Pawns
by Xcom-anders
Summary: Have you ever asked yourself, "who in their right mind would work for a psychopath like Joker?" Me, I've been wondering that myself for eight years, and if I knew, I don't think I would have signed up in the first place. Just remember our deal. You want your story, and I just want what's mine. OC/Cameo heavy. Feedback is encouraged.
1. Prologue

**The following is a non-profit work of fiction. Batman: WB Interactive, DC Comics, Rocksteady, Paul Dini, and other entities that I probably missed all own Batman: Arkham Asylum, Arkham City, and Arkham Origins. OK, that looks good. Bite me, legal teams!**

_Alright, kiddo, so tell me, you here cuz you wanna be, or because they up and put you in this situation? You think any of them, Vale, Sharp, Bullock and his lackeys, or even that freak with the cape give two shakes of a rat's ass about what happens to you? True, they don't want you to get hurt, but really, this is all about what I have to offer. Truth is, no matter what happens, Sharp's gonna put up the walls, and us so called "low-life's" will have nothing left to do but tear each other apart, just as you all hope. Oh, spare me the look, it's written all over your face. You ain't even from here, but you couldn't be happier, knowing that Joker, Harley, and all us poor dancing clowns are gonna be locked in a high security playpen. _

_Well, truth is that it isn't gonna hold him. I don't know how, but it does seem kind of pathetic that everyone seems to think that that will be all it takes to get rid of him forever. Cept our buddy outside, of course, but since when did he count? Which brings us here. They told you the deal, four-eyes? Awesome. And for the record, I want to see him fry just as much as anyone. Don't let the make-up fool you, or my history. A lot of people want to see him dead, once and for all, even in his very own "army…" _

Prologue

Arkham Island, five hours after initial prisoner uprising

Hector Silva sat in the master control room in the intensive treatment building, staring intently at the monitors viewing the visitor's center. His men had just finished moving the smuggled fireworks to the roof, and had finally bound the two Titan monsters next to the Joker's throne. Over the years, Hector's distaste for the arbitrary theatricality of his boss had slowly but surely boiled over to a loathing that surpassed incarceration, dealing with rival criminals like Penguin and Two-face, and putting up with that sanctimonious commissioner currently (hehe) in custody. Normally, he wouldn't pass up the chance to rub some salt into the wounded officer's pride, but an earlier chance encounter with the Dark Knight, ruined any chance of taking a long walk on the beach for at least a few months.

"Boss, you getting this?" A voice squealed out of the walkie on the panel in front of him. Ray was new meat, but he could follow orders and, for someone serving time for manslaughter and larceny, did a reasonable job towards not attracting attention. To think, the only reason he signed up with this business was so Hector wouldn't have to shank him. In his defense, Hector thought, the guy snored. "The greenhouse just collapsed in on itself! What the hell is going on?!" Hector grunted, figuring that Ivy must be slipping in her old age if it took so little time for him to stomp her into the ground, again. "It means you need to get your ass over to the visitor's center, and let everyone know he's coming."

"You're telling me that you expect me to try and stop someone who just got done fighting who-knows-what in there…" "I'm not expecting you to stop him, I know you are going to fail, and that it will be hilarious, and that the more you think you have a chance, the funnier it will be, but you have a job to do, so just do it," deadpanned Hector. To think, years ago, he had gone from thinking that he could've stopped the guy mano-a-mano, to later attempting to gang-up on him, to even later trying to land a single blow against him, to eventually hoping his coma wouldn't last of a week. Hector knew he wasn't weak, and he could brawl and street-fight with the best of them, but the Dark Knight simply defied explanation. It didn't matter how many went after him, what they were carrying, or how foolproof the trap was, he simply could not be defeated.

Ignoring the whimpering over the comm. channel, he focused back on the monitor, following black-clad figure looking at the fireworks display now commencing. He had seen this song and dance so many times that he couldn't help but tune out and divorce himself from the inevitable. He had no illusions towards what was about to happen, and he knew that whatever the Joker was going to throw at him, Batman was going to knock it out of the park. Maybe there was some deeper meaning towards what was going on between the two of them. That this was some kind of game where he was just too stupid to follow the rules, but all he could see anymore was the aftermath. Hector reckoned that there were at least a hundred dead members of the security staff, with survivors as far as he could tell scattered throughout the various facilities. The Blackgate prisoners didn't get out unscathed either, as those who weren't killed in the engagements with the security staff were either strangled or beaten to death by the native inmates of Arkham after Joker released them, or were… consumed by Poison Ivy's carnivorous plants, and he was reasonably sure that one unlucky inmate got lost in the sewers, so the poor bastard was as good as dead. In fact, looking at the security camera, it seemed that the hundred or so inmates currently residing in the visitor's center were all that was left of the initial two hundred and fifty inmates Joker brought to the asylum, and only half of those still standing were in any form of fighting condition.

After spending years repressing this single, traitorous thought, it had at long last dawned on him. _This is insane_. The culling, the experimentation, the meaningless sacrifices, the complete and sheer disregard towards, not only the established norms, even rules, of organized crime, but rational thought itself. To think, somehow, he had run with this crew for eight years, ever since the fall of Roman Sionis himself. He felt a sharp pain in his chest. _Tiffany._ _Charlie. Ron. _It was just him. He was the only one left, the only one who remembered the takeover, and the only one who survived the turf wars, the suicide missions, the petty tantrums, and those ridiculous mind games between two people who couldn't even remember their names!

He knew what he had to do. By now, the GCPD would realize that every single bomb was a dud. Sure enough, Gotham SWAT was on the other side of the bay getting ready to charge the bridge at a moments warning. He hoped the Riddler had shot his mouth off enough to get caught, because if not, what he was about to do was going to end up a bloodbath. He glanced around himself, confirming he was alone, and then he switched to the security feed. He could tell that the few survivors of the rampage were either holed up in the medical center, the greenhouse, and one particularly obnoxious one in the penitentiary. Next would be finding where the emergency shut down protocol was located. It shouldn't be that hard, seeing as Harley was able to bring the entire system to its knees, and sure enough, after browsing through the network, he found it. Using this, he would be able to completely shut down access to the buildings where the survivors were held up, preventing them from being used as leverage in case Joker or any of his more trigger-happy henchmen felt like staving off the inevitable just a bit longer. Now, what was that code Riddler mentioned? He gingerly typed in the digital kill switch "m4D+d0g" and exhaled when he viewed nearly all the emergency blast doors on the island slam shut.

Step one done, thought Hector, now for the cavalry. Bracing himself on a shotgun, and hoping the splint made out of duct tape and a chair leg would hold, he hobbled over towards the front desk. Ordinarily, the landline would be severed in situations like this, but considering his boss's propensity for crank calls, he had a hunch it would be intact. After ten minutes of pained hobbling, he made it to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the GCPD's number.

"This is the GCPD, what is the nature of your emergency." He thought for a second. Gordon was currently one meter away from being a monsters chew toy, so that would make… "Put Lt. Bullock on the phone on the phone."

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid…"

"Yes, I know he's currently about to charge Arkham Island, that's what this is about."

"Wait, it says that you're calling from…"

"DAMMIT, YOU PUT HIS FAT ASS ON THE LINE, NOW!"

There was a pause. For a second, he was worried that he blew his chance, until…

"Bullock, who's calling? That you, Cash?"

"Not quite."

"Wait…you…" He could practically smell the contempt on the other end of the line.

"As much as I'd like to reminisce on the old days, I just wanted to let you know that, apart from the commissioner, there are no hostages for you to worry about, so feel free to bust in"

Dead silence.

"And if it's the commissioner you are worried about, last I saw, Batman was on his way, so there is that."

Still nothing. He was about to hang up or redial when he heard.

"So tell me, what happened? You finally ready to hang it up?"

"… Yeah, I guess so."

"Too bad, you've still gotta burn for what you've done."

And finally, he heard the disconnect signal. Nothing left to do but lean back and wait. As he did, he found himself looking up at a familiar stern, make-upped face.

"Riley, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the party?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I heard the whole thing. I know what you just did. And when the boss is done with the Bat, Imma haul your sorry carcass to him. I knew you were going soft, and when I kill your ass, I…" That was the thing about Riley, he spent most of his time and energy flapping his jaw, and not enough time looking at his surroundings. As a result, he failed to take in the little details in the world around him. Like the fact that the target he was screaming at was holding a shotgun.

**So there you have it, the prologue. Like it, hate it, disinterested. Feel free to let me know.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Deal

**I do not, nor will ever own any of the intellectual property that is Batman.**

Chapter 1: The Deal

_Two months after the Arkham Uprising_

Stop if you've heard this before. A sweet small town girl who has had stars in her eyes since before she could remember leaves home in the hopes of making it big. She knew this was a familiar pattern, one that had no doubt left more then a few broken hearts and shattered dreams it its wake. However, Kelly Andrews could at least initially point to a few things she had going in her favor. For starters, instead of being an actress or some celebrity that the gossip rags would fight over, she had aimed to become a respectable newswoman. Another thing was that instead of having it out in the hyper-competitive west coast job market, she looked to cut her teeth in the east coast. Finally, after four years of dedicated work, she graduated cum laude from her little university in Blue Valley with a major in Journalism and a minor in Broadcasting.

Things were looking up when, right out of college, she got a dream job just outside of Metropolis, running stories on local events and earning a comfortable, modest living. She even had a boyfriend. Then… well, then she learned the hard way that some places had people who respected hard work, diligence, and honesty, while other places were just like that as well… with some caveats. Apparently, nobody liked a whistleblower, at least those in charge. Ever since that ugly incident, the coldness she felt from the company slowly but surely became unbearable, and within a month, she just had to get out. She quit her job, asked the few remaining co-workers not afraid to talk to her for a reference, and headed out to find something she could call her own.

The new place she found wasn't half bad. It was a little apartment that was above a small coffee shop, which was great for part time work and had free Wi-Fi. It was a short bike ride away from her new job as a receptionist for the city radio station, and, best of all, had bars on the windows and three separate locks on the door. Anything less, and she wouldn't have even set foot in Gotham freaking City.

She couldn't decide which she hated worse. The gloomy atmosphere, the crazy people, the smell, the attitudes of the natives, the crazy people, the weirdoes with the capes, the climate, the crime rate, the cops who deal with the crime rate, the crazy people, or the weather. Right now, she figured that she would settle on the weather, which was fog so thick that you could barely make out your hand if it was right in front of your face. It was the kind of fog that seemed like it came out of a horror novel, and she was ecstatic that she was not working today.

Kelly made a point to never leave her apartment unless she had to work, shop, report her bike stolen, or in the event of an emergency. This may have seemed excessive to people who lived in Gotham all their lives, but this was the first time she had ever lived in at a block that had a quintuple homicide in the past year. Hell, the day she moved in was the day of the uprising at Arkham, so how dare they call her paranoid! She was perfectly content with her typical evening ritual; Chinese delivery, Netflix, and her typical evening formal wear ensemble of her Blue Valley University sweatshirt and pants, and no shoes. Then the knock happened.

Kelly winced, hoping this guy would take the hint after a while; she wasn't interested in dealing with salesmen anymore. She had enough knives and magazines, thank you very much. The guy was persistent however, and continued knocking. What was his problem? The lights were out, she was wearing headphones, the door was locked, so she figured all the signs in the universe were there; clear as crystal, to tell the guy to just bug off. After a solid minute of pounding, she couldn't take it any more. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" she screamed. There was a pause, then an answer came when the irritant replied, "Excuse me, but you wouldn't happen to be Ms. Andrews, would you?" Wait a minute. That was a woman's voice. Not only that, it seemed familiar too. It took only a second until the realization hit her, followed by the dread. Ripping off her headphones, she climbed off her couch, and inched towards the doorway, undid the locks and opened the door to look at Gotham Nightly News herself, Vicki Vale.

She had never seen Vicki in person, but for some reason, she didn't expect to be a full three inches shorter towards one of her very few idols in this city, for some reason she always pictured that they were the same height. If they were, she wouldn't have the experience of having one of the most influential members of the city's media staring down at her with an amused look across her face. Her face started to heat up, and it took a surprising amount of willpower not to slam the door and hide under her bed for the next few months. "Please, don't worry about it, I understand completely", chuckled Vicki. "I'm sorry it's just… If I knew you were coming… the place is a mess…" stammered Kelly, hoping that her first impression with the local news great could, in some sense of the phrase, be considered salvageable. "Tell you what, invite me in, and I won't hold it against you." laughed Vicki.

The apartment wasn't what you would call a mess, but she had not been expecting company, and Kelly was practically kicking herself for not doing a better job tidying up. It was a fairly generous setup, three rooms, with a living room/kitchen in the front, with a small bedroom next to the kitchen, and a bathroom next to the bedroom. Rent was reasonably affordable for someone working almost two jobs, and the tenants weren't a particularly huge distraction, but for some reason, she felt embarrassed that Vicki Vale was in her apartment, like she was afraid that someone she considered to be her idol was going to judge her. "Nicer then the place I started out in. You even have a fridge. I bet you don't even have a rodent problem here." Guess not, then.

"So tell me, how is Gotham City Radio treating you?" inquired Vicki, sitting on the couch next to the piping hot carton of lo mein resting on Kelly's laptop. As she sat, she placed a thick folder on the couch arm. "Uh, everything is going great, eh… Ms. Vale", stammered Kelly. Vicki looked at her, wearing something of a bemused look on her face, before responding, "Miss Andrews, I understand getting a softball answer from the mayors office or from the Rogues coach after getting their butts kicked 28-6 against Star City, but I really expect better from a fellow newswoman." Before she knew it, her face was starting to heat up again. She sat next to Vicki, hoping she wouldn't notice. "What's wrong?"

Kelly gnawed on her lip for a moment, but before she could answer, Vicki interrupted with, "Ah, yes, I know about Metropolis. That storm you created at KTPN is really going to leave a mark. Serves them right, if you ask me." Kelly looked at Vicki, mystified that someone in Gotham cared at all about her little station just outside of Metropolis. "So if it's all the same to you, I would appreciate it if you would stop fawning in the "Great" Vicki Vale's presence and feel free to bust on my old co-workers as you see fit." "I'm serious, everything is just fine. I really don't have any problems with management, or anyone I work with. I swear!" stuttered Kelly, sincerely. Vicki looked as if she was about to say something, but then she paused, looked thoughtful, then smiled at Kelly.

"Oh, I think I see how it is." purred Vicki. She stood up from the couch, and started to unbutton her blazer. Kelly sat, dumbfounded, as she removed her blazer, resting it on the couch, and stood holding her arms out to her side. "Well, go on, check." Kelly just sat there, mystified about what she was looking at. Vicki exhaled, and, pulling up her blouse above her stomach, slowly turned around in a circle. Kelly, not sure how much more awkward the situation in her apartment could possibly get his evening, muttered "What…what on earth are you doing?" "Proving to you that I'm not wearing a wire!" exclaimed Vicki, still holding up her blouse. "I didn't think you were!" Now it was Vicki's time to blush, something that Kelly figured to herself must be some kind of rare event, like Halley's comet or a prison within a hundred miles that didn't have a weekly breakout. "Just so you know, I'm usually asked if I am wearing a wire beforehand, and I never am, well, usually." Flustered, Vicki dropped her blouse and sat back down next to Kelly, trying to pick up where she left off.

"Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that I know you are wasted being some secretary to GCR, and I just came here for an offer that I just know you must be interested in," Vicki explained, reaching for the folder she had put on the couch. She handed it to Kelly, where the first thing she noticed was the large, universally recognizable insignia of Arkham Asylum, was stamped on the front. "Vickie, what did you just give me?" Kelly breathed, dread washing over her like an arctic wave. "A couple of weeks ago, Batman just put a stop to what could have been the largest and potentially deadliest prison break in the history of Gotham. I'm sure you've been watching the reports on Gotham Nightly non-stop, correct? Well, I was out of town when the riot broke out, and when I came back, I did some digging into some potential stories that Ryder may have missed, and I came across this." Vicki opened the folder, and the first thing Kelly saw was a mugshot of someone she never wanted to meet at night. The man had a black crew cut, hardened jaw line, and cold, icy blue eyes that looked like they belonged in a slasher movie. But what really caught her attention was the scar. A big, long one that looked like it went from the corner of his right eye to the bottom of his upper lip, giving him the impression that he was always smirking, or more accurately, sneering.

"Hector Anthony Silva. This remarkable example of the human species has a steady list of priors. Arson, robbery, battery, kidnapping, carjacking, and at least a dozen recorded cases of homicide. Funny thing is, I found out he started out as a reasonably non-violent offender, until things took a rather drastic change for the worse." Vicki explained. "What happened?" asked Kelly. Vicki reached deep into the folder, and pulled out a playing card. Joker, to be specific. "What's is important to know about Silva, is that, bar none, he has worked under the Joker for far longer then any other known member in his organization." Vicki continued, staring at Kelly, trying to read any reaction she could get. "Keep in mind, Ms. Andrews, that this is an organization where one's chances of survival can typically be measured in months, so for a member to survive for eight years, ever since the Joker became public knowledge, indicates either someone who the Joker has thought to be inexpendable, or has demonstrated uncanny aptitude towards survival in extreme circumstances. But what I can tell you, is that during the uprising, Hector Silva betrayed the Joker."

"What?!" Kelly exclaimed. She had been new to Gotham, but not that new. She had heard the horror stories about people who went up against the Joker. From someone in his own gang, however, was something completely unheard of. "How?" she asked. "He made a call to the SWAT team across the bridge, confirming that the surviving members of the staff were not being held hostage. There's also the matter of how he was found, where…" Vicki paused for a moment, before adding "Well, let's just say that he was "emphatic" about his resignation. Which brings us to what I wanted to talk about." Vickie leaned towards Kelly, green eyes piercing her brown. "What I am about to tell you is extremely confidential, and I am going through a lot of trouble, and putting a lot of faith in you, to understand this. Can I trust you?" Kelly nodded; her interest in this was piqued at a level that she hadn't felt since starting out in Metropolis. She had almost forgotten how good it felt.

"The GCPD and the Asylum administration have recently decided to cut a deal with Silva. In exchange for everything he knows about the Joker's organization, history, affiliations, anything that can be brought up in a court of law, he gets a shot at witness protection, if not complete amnesty. Look, I know what you're thinking, but what he is offering could put the Joker in the chair, and a lot of people here have been praying for that day to happen, so to us it's a small price to pay." Vicki stopped, looked away for a second, than inhaled and continued, "This is where you come in. So far, Silva has refused to talk to any of the police, psychiatrists, or even Batman. I would try to arrange an interview myself, but… well, we have history, so I sent Sharp a proposal that I could find a suitable replacement. All you need to do is conduct the interview and get what we need."

Kelly felt so many emotions that it was almost impossible to describe. "I… why?" was all she could say. "Why me?" "Because you aren't from here, he won't recognize you, and you do not come off as threatening, which will be useful for the interview" Vicki replied, "But more importantly, you have something that this city needs as much as jobs, safety, and a peaceful nights sleep. You have integrity." There was a silence that lasted for well over a minute, but it didn't awkward. Rather, it gave Kelly the time and peace to process the enormity of what Vicki, no, the city was asking her to undertake. "Sorry," Vicki said as she broke the silence. "I'm actually not that good at small talk." she chuckled nervously. She picked up her blazer from the couch, and moved towards the door. Before she left, she turned and asked Kelly if there was anything else she wanted to know. "When is this going to happen?" Kelly requested. "We are setting up something for next week. I'll call you when everything is in order. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to go over that folder until then." She opened the door, and before she left the apartment, turned one last time to Kelly, and smiled. "And Kelly… thanks."

**And so ends chapter one. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment or review, I would really like to know how I'm doing so far.**


	3. Chapter 2: Arrival at the Madhouse

**If anyone or thing in this story seems familiar, I do not own them. Sound good?**

Chapter 2: Arrival at the Madhouse

_One week later_

This downpour had lasted three days. Since the meeting, Kelly had thrown herself into the file Vicki obtained, looking for something, anything, that could give her the edge against a man like Silva. What she could make out from the files was that Silva was, indeed, someone integral to the Joker's organization. The positions he had held varied from recruiter, trainer, field strategist, disciplinarian, negotiator, coordinator, and, she could not believe she was thinking this, special operations. Really, the more she read about the Joker's gang, the more "gang" seemed like a technical misnomer. These people seemed more and more like a bunch of freelance terrorists, maybe even a cult. To dedicate your life to something, to someone as impulsive and self-destructive as the Joker, it was simply incomprehensible.

The psychological evaluation, handled by one Dr. Sarah Cassidy, didn't yield any further clues towards what went on in his head. Anti-social personality disorder, which was common enough these days, particularly in this city. But that neither explained his efficiency with coordinating the uprising, or, even more bafflingly, his sudden, belated change of heart. Her thoughts were interrupted when her phone went off. Guess judgment day wasn't going to let a monsoon stop her. She took the file, grabbed the heaviest coat she could find, locked the door behind her, and ran out to her newest friends car.

Vicki looked even more anxious then when she told her about the interview. Kelly had realized that there were a lot of things she really should have asked her, but the combination of being caught off guard, star-struck, and endowed with an important mission crippled her ability to think super-clearly. Now, however, she was ready. "Something you aren't telling me, Ms. Vale?" she asked. Vicki wrinkled her nose. "Apparently, clearing you with the police, mayor's office, and asylum administration wasn't enough in the minds of some people. Well, maybe just one in particular, but _he_ insisted on talking with you personally as soon as we arrived at the asylum." Vicki growled, taking off in the streets. Kelly took the moment to try and defog her glasses, racking her brains for someone who could give Vicki that much grief. "Well, I'll do my best to convince, well, whoever he is that I'm the woman for the job." said Kelly confidently. Vicki just laughed, answering, "Believe me, you don't know him like I do. Just… don't take anything he says too personally."

There was a lot more construction going on around the city. It was mostly relegated to the north end of Pioneer Bridge. After the uprising, the recently elected mayor Quincy Sharp prioritized buying up one of the northern most neighborhoods in order to house an open aired prison. The plan was to send everyone from Blackgate and the Asylum into a massive, free-roaming pit, and lock them in. Kelly couldn't even begin to describe everything unconstitutional or unethical towards the plan, but Sharp was able to whip up enough of a frenzy within the Gotham citizenry to push the plan through the city council. Truth be told, Kelly thought to herself, a part of her was rooting for the plan to go through. It would be nice to take the bars off her windows and feel safe in this city, after all.

That thought was put to rest, however, when Vicki drove through the part of town known as the Narrows. To call this section of the city run down was overselling it. This place felt sick, wrong even. Like the very air was toxic, even though the steel mill on the other end of the bay had been shut down years ago. Maybe it was just the reputation, but a lot of the so-called "super-villains," upon breaking out of Arkham Asylum, would usually set up shop in this section of town. Maybe they didn't feel like going too deep into the city, or maybe, for some reason, they didn't want to wander too far from the asylum. For many of them, the asylum must have felt like home, and they never spent to long outside it. Still, Kelly thought, no one had seen Dr. Crane since the uprising.

They had finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, between the tension of the Narrows and the pounding of the rain, arrived at the bridge leading to Arkham Island. Vicki turned to Kelly, told her to let her do the talking, and rolled down the window. An officer came trotting up to the car, wearing a rain slicker over his… no, her uniform. "Officer Montoya, it's me. I presume the commissioner told you the details?" Vicki stated. Montoya looked at Vicki, then looked at Kelly, up and down, then smiled. "Gee, Vicki, I never would have thought you would have picked up baby-sitting."

"Very funny, Montoya, any word from our _mutual friend_."

"Yes, well, kind of. He just passed through the checkpoint twenty minutes ago."

"Already? It's not even five o'clock. What's he doing up so early?"

"No idea. He seemed a bit more "curt" then usual. Maybe he doesn't want to deal with Bullock, or maybe she really wants to chat with your young friend here."

She turned to Kelly, saying, "Hey, I know you're probably nervous, but the GCPD has the entire island locked down tight, the doctors have everyone locked in their cells, and nobody on the island wants to go another round with our friend. But if anything goes wrong, we will get you out of there. You read me, kiddo?" Normally, the officers patronizing tone would have annoyed her. Kiddo? Lady, you aren't even a decade older then me, and I'm still twenty-four, thought Kelly. Still, the sentiment wasn't unwelcome, so she nodded politely, and even cracked a small smile.

"I'll radio Bullock and let him know you're here."

"Thanks, Renee. Say hello to Darcy for me, will you?"

"Will do, Vicki."

She ran back to her squad car, and seconds later, the gate to the bridge opened. "You have a lot of friends on the force?" inquired Kelly. "I've made more then a few enemies, but Montoya and the commissioner are some who understand what I'm trying to do. What _we _are trying to do." Vicki drove up to another gateway, and when that opened, Kelly could see that the asylum grounds were covered with police cruisers. With the security force devastated, some of the GCPD had been volunteering their time guarding the island until the prisoners could be transferred to the new prison. There was one, however, that Kelly didn't recognize. It was black, sleek, and covered in dents. "Well, looks like our friend is waiting inside." mentioned Vicki, motioning towards a building labeled "Intensive Treatment". "Let's not keep him and the dear Lieutenant waiting."

The women ran towards the doorway, both cursing the fact that they forgot their umbrellas, until they were safely inside the warm sanctuary. Once inside, they saw two people waiting for them. One, heavyset, scowling, wearing a trench coat, glanced away from his conversation with the other individual to shoot Vicki a sour look. "You know, I was going to see a baseball game till you insisted on calling this interview."

"What game, Bullock? It's a typhoon, outside!"

"It's the principle of the matter! You wouldn't understand."

The other individual was, in a word, unmistakable. Black armor, stern jaw line, flowing cape, this was Kelly's first meeting with the infamous Batman. Along with Bullock, he also glared daggers towards Vicki, but then he locked eyes with her. Suddenly, Kelly felt like she was five years old again, being scolded by her father over something she had forgotten years ago. "Vicki, whatever point you are trying to make, you need to put a stop to this. People could get hurt." the vigilante growled. "What I am trying to prove is that, for years, a perfectly sane man has been utilizing the asylum as his "get out of jail free" card, and by finally proving it, the city will do what it should have been done years ago." Vicki got right up in the Dark Knights face, causing Kelly's heart to skip a beat. "I'm not doing this to "make a point," I'm just trying to seal a gap that our city's justice department left wide open. Don't act like he's your responsibility. Whatever obligation you felt you had ended when he landed back in custody." Bullock guffawed, "Obligation? Him? He's not law enforcement, he's just some glorified hobbyist." Vicki wheeled on Bullock "Some "hobbyist," who's been accomplishing more victories against these super criminals then your department single handedly. Tell me Bullock, what were you doing during the uprising. Waiting around while the commissioner was in danger, or just waiting until Batman did the GCPD's job for you, again?" Bullock was starting to turn beat red. "Oh, well excuse me for trying to keep my people safe, missy! Gordon didn't have a problem with how I ran the show, neither did Ryder! Which reminds me, how was Hawaii? Y'know, other then a couple thousand miles away!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both the arguers snapped to Batman, who had positioned himself next to Kelly while everyone else was enthralled by the quarrel. Kelly herself marveled as to how such a conspicuous looking individual was so good at sneaking around. "Now, the one thing we all agreed on was to give Ms. Andrews the briefing, but if you two are occupied, I'll do the honors." And with that, he grabbed Kelly's arm and made his way to the elevator platform. As it lowered he turned towards Kelly, looked at her, as if scanning for something, then asked "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"…Yes. I do."

"Why?"

That caught her off guard. Why? It was so obvious, wasn't it? It was… because Vicki asked? Because it was what she had majored in college? Because she hated being a receptionist? Because he wanted something else to rub into that smug, pompous face of her old regional manager at KTPN? Because…

"Never mind."

She looked back up to her impromptu escort. "It isn't my place to ask." Kelly thought for a second, then, after gathering up her courage, asked, "Well, can I ask you something?"

"No promises."

"…You've had… more then enough opportunities to kill the Joker. Why are you so cool towards seeing if I can get some form of confession out of this Silva guy? Are you telling me that you are really O.K. with the Joker getting capital punishment after all this time?"

"… The Joker has had more then enough time to run out of luck. Just because I refuse to take that level of the law into my own hands doesn't mean I won't honor the judges decision."

"Wow, that's really… diplomatic. I-I mean, I just figure you were…"

"What?"

"…Never mind."

They walked in silence for a few minutes before speaking again. Surprisingly, it was Batman who broke the ice this time. "The only reason I went along with this is because I know your history." Kelly was mystified. Vicki Vale, sure, why wouldn't she know about that, but Batman? Then again… "My issues were towards how you were brought into this business, but regardless of that, I do believe that Vicki, ultimately, made the right choice." Eventually, they reached a solid steel doorway.

"This door leads to the visitors center. It will just be you and him, as per the negotiated settlement we arranged. He will be sealed behind a solid layer of Plexiglas, and if things start to go wrong, you can leave anytime, or call me for help."

"Um, not to be rude, but why would I need to call you for help?"

"I've made a plan for any contingency that could involve him trying to physically hurt you in some way, but the thing about Silva is that he can be surprisingly intelligent. You don't seem the type, but nobody wants another Harley Quinn."

Kelly… did not know what to say to that. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or slap him. She tried to read his face, but she couldn't make out any sense of emotion. She thought she saw a little hint of a smile, but then she was probably just projecting. The steel doors opened, revealing a wooden corridor that culminated in an old fashioned, wooden door at the very end. She looked at Batman, who gave her a subtle encouraging nod, took a deep breath, and walked towards a conversation that would change her life forever.

**Don't be shy! Feedback is always welcome!**


	4. Chapter 3: Sleeping Demons

**You guys know the drill right now, right? I mean, seriously, if I owned the stuff, would I be writing this for free? Probably, because I could live off of the game royalties alone. Anyway, tangent over. Onward and forward.**

Chapter 3. Sleeping demons

_"Where the hell is he? How long has it been, anyway?" the dark skinned man grumbled as he moved in closer to the burning barrel. Hector checked his watch. "It's been 45 minutes, Ron, quit bellyaching." Truth be told, Hector had been thinking the same thing. Charlie meant well, and it wasn't like he and Ron would sell the guy out if they ever got caught, but his timing left something to be desired. He also had a habit of hawking off any of the watches he got for his birthday. After pawning off the Rolex last year, Ron made Hector swear off fighting what was obviously fated to be a losing battle._

_Charlie eventually stumbled into the alleyway. He attempted to apologize, but Ron just told him to stuff it. The scrawny little man wasn't as big as his two other compatriots, but he did possess certain talents and savvy Hector and Ron were delighted to have. Besides, if he had been a liability, they wouldn't have stuck with him after high school. "Anyways, I hear that Falcone thinks there's a rat the family, so nothing new there, but what's interesting is how he's goin' through this. He's looking to bring in someone outside, y'know, and tryin'a set em up, see if he can knock out the rat." Charlie reported. _

_For three petty criminals, one thing they all agreed on was keeping informed of the internal politics of Gotham's most venerable crime family. Hector, especially, considering his old man had been one of Falcone's leg breakers. Hector had been brought up to believe that The Roman, Carmine Falcone, was the most powerful man in the world, and it was clear to his old man that he deserved every respect afforded to him. There weren't many jobs where men like Rodrigo Silva, a single father and formerly convicted felon, could work just enough to live comfortably and spend time with his kid._

_"Anyway, funny thing is, it looks like this is another one of those yuppies from downtown, goes by the name Sionis," Charlie laughed "and don't ask me what they would want with a guy like that." Sionis? Didn't they go bankrupt a couple months back? Hector also remembered hearing about a fire at one of those mansions outside of Gotham. Wasn't that their manor? This was starting to sound like someone who got in over his head, probably out of desperation. Still, whatever money he had left, it was bound to be green, and he really needed people with "experience" in his new venture. Hector looked at Ron and Charlie, they were both thinking the same thing. With friends like these…_

"Wake up, prisoner! Time for your one on one!" Cash bellowed as he rustled Silva from his cell. It was funny, actually. Despite being the severe hardass inmates had come to expect, Silva had a hard time really hating security chief Aaron Cash. He didn't take the man lightly, or course, but the man had a good head on his shoulders, and didn't go out of his way to prove to the inmates about what a badass he was. He could think of a few people at Blackgate who really could have used such a lesson. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk and punctured piggies.

Cash had set down a wheelchair in front of him, this one modified with a series of locks and restraints. "Courtesy of the Asylum, your highness," sneered Cash. His leg had mended reasonably well, and the cast would be off in due time. Of course, how much time he had was something never far from his mind. The Joker didn't like it when people deviated from the script, and Silva's interference thwarted what could have turned into a "few extra hours of fun" with the staff survivors, in case his game with Batman went into overtime. Or maybe they were just pissed that he blew Riley's head off. He couldn't hear what the other inmates were saying about his maneuver, but considering he had been completely separated from the rest of the Blackgate gang, and was under a twenty-four hour security watch, he could make a reasonable guess. All the more reason to get this one right, Silva thought.

Cash wheeled Silva through what seemed like an especially quiet corner of the asylum. He couldn't hear the hollering of the other inmates so he decided to strike up some banter of his own. "So, how's the job hunting, Cash?" quipped Silva. "Nothing that concerns you." grunted Cash. "Oh, lighten up. Isn't Gotham Zoo hiring? I hear they're looking for someone to feed the cro-*ACK*" Electricity coursed through his body. Cash must be in a particularly crappy mood. It usually took longer before he reached that point. The man must be terrified that he'll be unemployed in a manner of weeks. Wife must be pregnant again. Congratulations.

Eventually, they reached the darkened holding cell. Now, who is going to nut up and talk to the big, scary felon? He heard the door slam behind him, and the lights flickered on. He looked out towards the window to get a good look at his interrogator, and couldn't believe the treat they'd sent him. The woman wasn't exactly a bombshell, but she had this sweet girl-next-door quality that was all the rage on television. Glasses, freckles, brown hair tied in a ponytail; she had just discarded the coat she was wearing. Business casual attire, Silva thought to himself. What does she think this is, a job interview? Everything about the girl, her clothes, the way she carried herself, the way she wouldn't look him in the eye, told him that she hadn't been in the "big, scary world" for a long time. Silva smirked. You're lucky you aren't my type, he thought to himself.

"Mr.…. um… Mr. Silva, my name is Ms. Andrews, and I'm here to talk about…" "Oh, shut the hell up." Ms. Andrews balked at the immediate rudeness of the convict. However she had planned this night to go, this clearly wasn't it. The more Silva thought about it, the more he was interested in seeing how fast he could make "Ms. Andrews" leave the asylum in tears. No, focus, that wouldn't do you any good. "Listen, we both know what you're here to talk about, so cut the whole "professional" shtick." drawled Hector. "This is Arkham Asylum, not some… whatever you were wanting to cover." The girl looked at him, then smiled. "You're right. O.k. then, how about this, my name is Kelly, and I need you to help me kill the Joker." Where did that come from? Looks like Ms. Kelly Andrews had some surprises, after all.

Kelly took a moment to flip through the folder, his "biography," as it were, but Hector had other things in mind. On the surface, it looked like he had gotten his wish. She clearly wasn't a cop or a doctor; he had a pretty good sense of character, and could tell when someone was trying to put up some kind of bumbling façade. Kelly seemed to be the real deal. Still, couldn't hurt to check. "You wearing a wire?" Silva asked. Kelly looked up at him. Was he really doing this? "You agreed to make a confession, so naturally you would be recorded now. Although, odds are the recording equipment is already installed in the room."

"I didn't hear a no."

"…If I was wearing a wire, I would risk creating a feedback loop with the recording equipment already in the room."

"Prove to me that you are not wearing a wire."

"…Mr. Silva, there are two things that I can assure you will not be happening in this session; you hurting me, and me removing my clothing." And there it was. Brains, brass, and common sense. This was the person he wanted to talk to.

"Alright then, sorry. But before we start, can I ask a few questions?" asked Hector. "As far as I am concerned, you already did." stated Kelly, still flipping through the file. "I mean seriously, nothing sleazy. I just want to know who I'm talking to." appealed Silva, trying his best to look innocent. Kelly didn't bother pretending she bought it, but relented, figuring some established trust would make the session go easier. "Shoot."

"You aren't from here, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

" You're from out west. The accent gave you away."

"…Yes, that's correct."

"So, what are you doing out here?"

"I came looking for a job."

"Does that job involve interviewing murderers?"

"Not for too much longer, hopefully."

"By then, you want to get the hell out of Gotham, don't you?"

"…Yes."

Silva smugly leaned back, or at least tried to. So this was her motive. Just one more then. "So, who asked you to do the interview?" Kelly looked down, gnawed on her lip for a moment, and then replied "I was asked to interview you by Vicki Vale." He was wondering why she hadn't jumped on the opportunity herself. Was she still mad about the zeppelin incident? He didn't mean to kidnap her, and the whole deal with the ransom was just him trying to make the best out of a bad situation. So, she was sending minions now? Well, time break the news to the kid about what she was getting herself into.

"Alright, kiddo, so tell me, you here cuz you wanna be…"

_The trio had arrived at the address Charlie provided, which led them to the old steel mill that had just been closed down. They found an entrance to the side, with a slot on the door. Charlie approached the door, knocked, and waited for the slot to open. "Business?" the voice on the other end asked. "Visigoth," replied Charlie. Apparently, Charlie had done some kind of "favor" for Carmine Falcone's youngest daughter, Sofia, in order to get the password. Whatever it was, Charlie didn't seem to complain. The slot closed, the door opened, and the three were rushed into the building, where they were then led to a truck dock, where a bunch of men were already loading up some trucks with crates._

_ "Boss, three more just showed up." their escort called out. A man, dressed in a white suit, who had been supervising the loading process, wheeled towards the three. We was young, he couldn't older then thirty, but he had this strange "aura" around him. Apparently, the man wasn't some dumb yuppie as Hector had previously thought. "Give me you're arm." said the man. Hector reached out, and the man took his hand, feeling up and down his arm. "Hmph, you're on security duty. Grab a gun, and pick a truck." He proceeded down to Ron, told him the same thing, and then moved to Charlie. "You, no, you go head down to the lab and see how you can make yourself useful." It was an awfully cold night to ride in the back of a truck, Charlie seemed to think, and so he went down the elevator without a second thought._

_"Gentlemen, if I may have your attention please." the man barked, later standing on top of a skid loader. "A lot of you new guys are probably asking yourselves a few questions. Questions like "Who's this rich prick, and why am I working for him?" Well, my name is Roman Sionis, and, to put it bluntly, I'm here to corner Gotham's drug trade." He surveyed the room. "I suspect I'm here for the same reason a lot of you are here. You are all trying to get in tight with the Falcones. Well, we've got a lot of work to do before that happens, so get it done." With that, he dropped himself from the loader, and went up to his office above the loading dock. Hector went over to the gun rack, grabbed himself an Uzi, and parked himself in the back of one of the trucks, with the words "Janus Cosmetics," written on the sides. He made himself comfortable between the boxes. His friends had hired themselves out as "security" before. It wasn't that hard, just glare and threaten away any of the junkies that started to overstay their welcome, and only pull out the gun if they were incredibly thick._

_The back door of the truck eventually slammed shut, leaving Hector in almost total darkness. It was times like this that he was glad he always carried a flashlight. An hour passed, and he felt the boredom sneaking in. Bracing himself against the bumps of the truck drive, he looked over to one of the boxes next to him. Surely a little peek wasn't going to spoil the quality, Hector thought to himself. He pried open on of the corners of he box, looking inside. Well, this seemed different. In all his years as a drug runner, he had never seen something that looked like it was actually glowing. Hector took a moment to thank his old man, may he rest in peace, for keeping him on the straight and narrow. Well, kind of._

_Eventually, he heard sirens from outside the truck. Feeling the truck slow down, Hector decided to hide the weapon in the crate he'd just slightly opened. The gun was for junkies, and no one wanted to get into a shootout with the cops, particularly on his first day. He heard someone talking to the driver, followed by the door opening in front of him. It was a heavyset guy, wearing a GCPD jacket. "So, what you haulin', anchovies?"_

_ "It says "cosmetics" on the side of the damn truck."_

_"I have no idea what you guys put in the stuff, all I care is about you going 40 in a 25 mile zone. Out of the truck." Silva begrudgingly obliged with the officers request, standing next to the driver. Looking around him, he could notice two things that stuck out to him. One was that they were outside of Gotham, in the woods, and the other was the road sign that read "40." Oh, wonderful. The man eventually jumped out from the truck, eyeballed both of them, then started to smirk. "Looks like I'll have to write both you up, this being a "school zone" and all. Unless you two make it worth my while." The driver; a tall, skinny, older fellow, gave a resigned sign, then reached into his coat pocket, taking out a wad of hundred dollar bills. The cop looked delighted, and happily sauntered back to his cruiser. "Pleasure doing business with you again, and remember to watch that speed." and with that, he drove off. It was times like this that Hector was reminded that in this city, the cops were basically just another mafia. Maybe he should have opened up on the guy. Oh well, a little bribe like that wasn't going to set them back, so the truck continued on its journey to Bludhaven._

_ Hector had heard people describe Gotham as a "cesspit," and he would know immediately that those people had never been to Bludhaven. If the Narrows had been the first thing built in Gotham, and the planners had come to the agreement that the city should look more like that, that would give people an idea about what Bludhaven looked like. An old whaling city that stopped whaling, an industrial center without any industry, it was a place where those with the option never stopped for long._

_ The truck pulled up to a long-closed supermarket, backing into the loading dock. Hector took that as his cue to open up the door, revealing a mass of junkies, dealers, and other assorted thugs waiting inside. Hector leveled the Uzi at the crowd. "Alright people, Christmas has come early. Line up and wait your turn. You all know the rules, you boys better have cash on hand and up front." The driver had just cut his way through the crowd, and started to divvy up the merchandise amongst the buyers. He had clearly been doing this for a while, and in a few short hours, the truck had been cleared out. When the crowd was getting antsy, Hector fired a warning burst into the ceiling, causing the crowd to disperse. They then spent the next hour tallying the money._

_ "You've done this stuff before?" the old timer asked. Hector looked up at the geezer. This was the first time he heard the man speak. "Well, I ran some stuff for the Sullivan's right out of high school." he answered honestly. "Wait, you graduated high school?" the old man wheezed. "That's something you don't run into everyday in this line of work."_

_ "Yeah, well my old man insisted I get a diploma before I "take up the family business"."_

_ "Hm, sounds like someone who worked for the old families."_

_"He did, my father was Rodrigo Silva."_

_The old man balked, knocking over a pile of hundreds he had just neatly sorted._

_"Your old man was the Crippler?!" _

_"The one and only." It surprised him how many people in his line of work still remembered his old man. One of the Falcone's most dreaded attack dogs, Rodrigo "The Crippler" Silva had worked to ensure that the criminal element of Gotham would toe the Falcone line. He was good at his job, and the other gangs and families had learned to afford the Falcones every respect when the threat of the Crippler was imminent. Since a young age, Rodrigo instilled in Hector a belief system dedicated to pledging service towards someone he considered deserving respect. For Rodrigo, it was senor Carmine Falcone. For Hector, he was going to have to find his own._

_"I remember your old man. That guy was crazy. I mean, no offense."_

_"None taken." In all honesty, he had to take other peoples words on what his father was like in his profession. Whatever he did on the clock, he was a very sweet, passive individual when he returned home. Every now and then, he would came home with some bandages, but other then that, the only reason he knew his father was a criminal was because he told him. His father was blunt, honest, and loyal to a fault, the latter of which was born out of some debt he owed Falcone over an incident that happened before Hector was born._

_When they were done, the old man gave Hector $5000 for all the help, and offered him a seat in the cabin on the drive home. It was almost sunrise, and Hector was a sucker for a good view, so he accepted. As they drove off, Hector smiled contentedly. This was something he could get used to, and there was no way he was going to give his up. Not for anything in the world._

Twelve years later, he found himself strapped to an electrified wheelchair, in a madhouse that he had helped turn into a slaughterhouse a few weeks ago. There was no mistake about it; he had demons to exorcise, and this woman on the other side of the glass was is best chance to do some of the good he should have had the balls to do earlier. His interviewer had fallen silent while he tore into her. None of it was personal, nor was he trying to scare her, he just wanted to make sure that she had her head exactly where it needed to be. After finishing his little speech, the girl, Kelly, finally spoke up.

"So, where do you want us to start?"

**Feedback plz**


	5. Chapter 4: Hidden Enemies

**I don't own any of this, blah, blah, blah, the Batman: Arkham series is property of yadda, yadda, yadda… (Gee, I'm so glad this isn't YouTube, huh?)**

Chapter 4. Hidden Enemies

**Batman P.O.V.**

Batman sat in the control room of the Intensive Treatment facility, gazing intently at the interview currently progressing at the interrogation chamber. Two months ago, this was where he had fought the first Titan monster of that long, dreadful night. Now, however, he had a much different conflict to worry about.

"How many times do I have to tell you, lady, what's done in the past is done! I haven't so much as jaywalked since Gordon took over!"

"Do you really expect me to believe that someone previously knee deep in the Gotham mob could land in control of an entire criminal facility through anything other then his pre-established connections?"

"Or maybe I'm running the island because I was the only one who volunteered! Ever think of that, missy?"

"If you call me missy one more time…"

He had rarely been as grateful for his time in Nepal as he was now. Using his meditative state, he could focus on listening exclusively to the interview at hand. Of course, the headset in his cowl was also noise cancelling, so it was simply a matter of turning the volume up as he browsed through the security feed. All the inmates, both Arkham natives and Blackgate transfers, were locked in their cells, while the doctors had given each a liberal dosage of sedatives. There were some who didn't, or in fact, couldn't be dosed.

One such inmate was Poison Ivy, whose biology had diverged so radically from typical humans that she was practically immune to most forms of sedation, or at least, reacted far differently. Another inmate who didn't need sedation was Harley Quinn, who had spent most of her days in the fetal position, waiting for her "Puddin." Speaking of the devil, Batman had switched over to the feed from his cell, watching his nemesis try to beat box in between coughing fits. Batman glared at the image for some time before switching back to the interrogation chamber.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was impressed with Kelly's candor. She had been able to convince Silva to trust her, and in turn, he opened up to a world of knowledge that even Batman himself was unaware of. He had an extensive criminal database back at the Batcave, filled with terabytes of information. Everything he needed to know about everyone from Intergang to the League of Assassins was at his fingertips, but his particularly keen interest was based around what plagued Gotham. And nothing plagued Gotham like Joker.

Batman had been active throughout most of it, but the Joker's first big masterstroke had been almost completely usurping the False Facers from Black Mask. While his focusing on imminent threats prevented him from usually dwelling on the past, there were certain things about the organization that continued to disturb him deeply. One was the level of commitment that the Joker was able to earn from those who followed him. Through some warped version of charisma, and a philosophy dedicated to mayhem, the Joker garnered a following amongst the angry and the mentally ill. Even with the horrendous turnover rate, the Joker never seemed to run out of followers, nor did it interfere with his ability to wage war on Gotham.

This was why Silva was so important. There was no one who knew as much about the Joker's network, nor anyone who would talk without fear of reprisal. So far, the Joker seemed to make no mention of attempting to make a move on Silva, but that didn't count for much, considering who he was. Hopefully, with his entire army incarcerated, the Joker's eventual execution would effectively decapitate the entire horde, eliminating any chance of reprisals. Batman once again decided to browse through the security feed. Once again, nothing was out of the ordinary, so he settled back on the interrogation chamber once again.

**Kelly P.O.V.**

"So, you really have been with the organization since day one," said Kelly, writing in her notebook studiously. They had been talking for several hours, and she had been making slow but steady progress. Despite his initially abrasive personality, Silva had turned out to be a remarkably sophisticated individual. He could attest to having created and managed several "cells" of the Jokers gang that were designed to function without direct leadership from the Joker himself. These cells were designed to gather information about both the police and the other criminals in Gotham, raising funds for the organization as a whole, and even building the various bombs, chemicals, and contraptions that the Joker would typically employ in his "stage shows," as he apparently called his criminal activity.

"And just how many other cells do you have active?" Kelly asked, looking up from her notes. Silva glanced upwards, thinking for a minute, before answering "About twelve in Gotham, and last I checked, three in Bludhaven. All of them are five man teams, and handpicked by Joker, Harley, or me. Usually me." Kelly glanced at her notes for a few seconds, than let out an exasperated sign. "I don't get it. I don't get what you are trying to do, I don't get it at all," she vented. Silva looked at her quizzically. "Beg pardon?"

"You are clearly a rational, sensible person. I've looked at the typical profiles of the other gang members. Mentally ill, hyper-violent, sociopathic or psychotic, no sense of self-preservation. So, please, could you explain to me, why the blue hell did you end up with Joker in the first place!"

Silva looked at her. "As I recall, this was about me giving up my knowledge of the Joker's gang, not my personal history."

"And as far as I am concerned, they are one in the same. If there is something you don't want me to know, it's only going to hurt you when you get thrown into Arkham City. I'm sure those cells you just sold out will be more then happy to make your acquaintance, in that case," Kelly reproached. Silva signed, and to Kelly, it almost seemed like he was aging before her eyes. Odd, for someone who was barely forty to seem so tired? "I'm exhausted, we can talk later," he said simply. "I'm done talking."

Kelly wanted to argue with him, but checking the clock alerted her that it was almost ten at night, and she really didn't want to be out after dark. "Oh, O.k., talk to you later, then." She grabbed her things and walked out towards the door she came in. When she opened the door, a stout, bald gentleman was waiting for her. "Well done, Ms. Andrews. If only my staff had been able to watch you tonight, they could have learned so much about how to conduct themselves around these degenerates." It was warden, no, Mayor Quincy Sharp. He was beaming at her, grabbing her hand and shaking it heartily. Kelly had just then noticed the cameras behind him. Flash bulbs erupted, blinding her. In the midst of the chaos, she felt a gruff hand on her shoulder, pushing her through the crowd of photographers towards another direction then the one Batman had taken her from. "Excuse me, gentlemen, out of the way. Give the lady room to breath," a familiar voice barked behind her. Bullock must be giving her a police escort.

She heard doors shut behind her, and no longer hearing the cameras around her, opened her eyes to see a sparse room occupied by four other people. It was just her, Vicki, Bullock, Sharp, and Batman. Vicki ran up to her, embracing her in a surprisingly tight hug. "You were phenomenal. You did better then I thought you would, and that's saying something," Vicki cheered. "Well, I will say that you saved us a lot of trouble. I'll get my boys on the line and let them know where to find these cells. I think I have a pretty good idea about where to look, too. You'll have them behind bars soon, Mr. Mayor," Bullock stated. "Bludhaven is out of your jurisdiction though, Lieutenant. I can have my associate make the round ups personally," Batman interjected. "Not to worry, Batman, but I believe I can manage these arrests myself." Everyone in the room turned to look at the mayor.

Mayor Sharp cleared his throat. "During the set up of Arkham City, I came in contact with a private security company who offered their services to the city, after everything that happened to Arkham Asylum. They go by the moniker "TYGER," and have pledged to supplement the GCPD until the walls have been completed, in which case they will be assigned to the perimeter. Until then, they are at the city's disposal, and are more then capable of handling these arrests themselves." He seemed pleased with himself, even as nearly everyone else in the room stared at him. Bullock was the first to speak up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mayor, but I don't seem to remember Gordon telling me that you had been hiring mercenaries on the city's dollar." "And I don't remember getting a press release, myself," Vicki added, glaring. For two people who had been at each other's throats for most of the afternoon, they seemed more then ready to tear the mayor to shreds.

The mayor's smile quickly faded, trying to stammer out an explanation that could satisfy Gotham's most dangerous cop and investigative reporter. Kelly, however, had been grabbed, again, by the arm, and was being led out by Batman. "Not to be rude, but this really doesn't concern you," the vigilante murmured. Kelly looked at his face, easily able to tell from his furrowed brow that he had been locked out of the loop as well. "I'll give you a lift back." And that was how, two months into her stay in Gotham City, she had gone from apartment hermit to riding the Batmobile. What had been a forty-minute drive to the asylum turned into a ten-minute return trip. As she spilled out of the vehicle, Batman called after her "We'll let you know when the next interview is," before driving off.

Kelly looked around her, surprised and more then a little grateful, that no one had actually seen her leave the car. To think, something that obvious and attention grabbing should have attracted at least some curious looks. Then again, maybe this city had gotten used to super-sonic cars in the past decade. She walked through the coffee shop, climbed up the stairs, entered her apartment, and plopped on the couch. Her mind had been racing during that interview. Not just about the cells, but also about the scope of the Jokers organization. His escapades had truly been the stuff of legend, but Silva was able to lie out an exhausting perspective towards how this was pulled off. The Arkham uprising was immensely complex, in and of itself, and that was with the support of master hacker, the Riddler, and former Asylum doctor, the Scarecrow. Silva himself had been busy during it, commanding his men from the field towards taking over the Hospital and the Manor, before a chance encounter with Batman sidelined him permanently.

Screw it, she thought, enough about those psychopaths, I've earned I nice hot shower. She smiled to herself. After a long, stressful day, of which there were many, there were few things that could compare to a warm shower. Getting undressed, she climbed in, turned the knobs as warm as she could handle, and just stood there, letting it all wash over her. In here, nothing could bother her. Not the Joker, not her job, not her student loans, not that tapping sound coming from her living room window, not Arkham Asylum, not her family, and not that her old boyfriend was still in the hospital. Kelly felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't called him since she moved to Gotham. Was he even conscious, yet? That was it, before she went to bed, she would finally give him a call. She shut off the shower, grabbed the towel, walked through her bedroom, and opened the door to see a woman in a catsuit helping herself to one of Kelly's cartons of milk.

Kelly was able to register the other woman's presence a full second before the other woman did. The other woman glanced over her shoulder, and slowly lowered the carton from her lips, smacking them as she put the carton on the counter. Kelly motioned to slam the door, but the other woman was already upon her, grabbing her mouth with one hand and bringing her index finger to her lips. "Now, I'm going to pull my hand away, and what I do after that is going to depend entirely on how you act," the woman whispered to Kelly. She pulled her hand away, and Kelly practically swallowed her tongue as to not upset her uninvited visitor.

"Good girl, now go sit on the bed while I figure out what to do with you. Don't. Move." the woman threatened. Kelly did as she was told, fighting to hold back the fear. This place was supposed to be her sanctuary, her escape from the rest of the freaks of the city, and here was one, in her living room. The woman was talking to herself, muttering something about bad timing and a museum alarm. It was then that Kelly noticed a knapsack on the counter, next to the milk carton. Something near the top of it was glistening.

The woman then stopped in front of the doorframe, swinging what looked like bolas from her fingers. "Listen babe, I'm on the lam, as they say, and I just needed a place to lay low for a little while. I've been using your place every now and then for the past few months, but I was usually careful not to let you know, mostly because you seem like such a sweet little thing. Now, out of respect, I'm just going to leave, and I will NOT hogtie you to the bed," the woman paused for a bit. "Sorry, if you're into that kind of thing." She grabbed her knapsack, turned to the window, and just as she was about to slide out, mentioned "Oh, and if you become tempted to tell anyone about what happened tonight, just know this; I'll find you, before they find me." With that, her visitor blew Kelly a kiss, and slid out the window.

Kelly continued to sit on the bed, too stunned to figure out what to do next. Should she scream at her landlord about the window bars not doing what they were designed to do, or just abandon her deposit and find another place to live? Maybe she should give Vicki a call, see if she could crash for a while? No, Kelly told herself, get a grip. This was a one-time incident, and she truly wouldn't want to risk another incident. No harm done, just lie down, relax, and tell yourself this was a dream. Kelly kept repeating that mantra until she finally passed out.

**Silva P.O.V.**

_"You thought you could take what was mine, that you could go behind my back, and I would just roll over, and wait until you were done?" Smoke hung heavily around the darkened room. The camera wasn't the only light, as the cigar in the man held in his fingers also illuminated precious little. He was sore all over, hanging like a piece of meat, busted, bloodied, and bruised all over. The man pulled the cigar in close to his face, shining off of the smooth, black skull that was truly this mans real face. He held it there, the bastard, and let the dread flow over his victim's poor broken body for a solid minute. "No, this is way to expensive to waste on a weasel like you." The man pulled the cigar away, disappearing from the light of the camera. For what seemed like an eternity, the broken man tried to discern movement, any movement, from the darkness in the back. Finally the man returned, brandishing a knife. "This is how I skin a weasel…"_

Hector shot awake, his scarred cheek throbbing. He signed. When he was younger, he used to dream about girls, money, and sunrises. Now he only had nightmares to greet him as he woke. He really didn't want to go back to sleep, but maybe, if he did, he could see her again.

There was a sharp tap on the door. "The hell is your problem, Cash, it's not even time for break…" he stopped, looking at the pair of blue eyes glaring at him from behind the door. "Looks like I found myself a rat. Mr. J is gonna be so happy I kill it, he's gonna forget about Batman for, like, a week."

"Harley, what are you doing out so late. Bullock's not going to be very happy."

"Ah, he can blow smoke up his ass. What matters is that no one is going to save you." Hearing what had to be the unmistakable jangling of keys, the door to Hector's cell opened wide, revealing Harley Quinn with a sparkling, electric baton.

**And there you have it, readers around the world. Feel free to R&R. Questions, opinions, complaints? All are more then welcome. Next chapter will be up shortly. Later.**

**P.S. On the suggestion of a reader (salutes ersay123) from this point forward, I will be differentiating the P.O.V. shifts, if that makes things easier.**


	6. Chapter 5: Cavalry

**My ownership of the Batman: Arkham Series begins and ends here.**

Chapter 5: Cavalry

**Kelly P.O.V.**

Kelly was at work the next day, sitting at the front desk at GCR. For a radio station, the place had a certain amount of longevity not typically found in places like this, and had done more then survive the advent of television and the internet. It had a kind of "classic" feel, and currently housed seven different stations. She was on good terms with all of them, which made her initial morning a bit hectic.

Apparently, she had become a something of a minor celebrity due to her interview at the Asylum, and she had spent her morning being congratulated and backslapped over her achievement. Her picture was in the paper, and Gotham Nightly was going to run it as the top story in the evening. After everything settled down, she settled into her desk, preparing for the usual drudgery until 5 o' clock. It wasn't even noon when she had heard that a squad car pulled up.

The officer was buzzed through, and when she arrived, Kelly was able to recognize yet another familiar face. Officer Renee Montoya. She smiled politely, and asked if she was able to chat for a bit. "I'm sorry, officer, but I not sure about…" Kelly started. "This isn't a social visit. I'm here to give you an update on the Silva situation. About 0800 hours ago, Silva was attacked in his cell by Harley Quinn, who had disabled her guards on the way to the bathroom." Kelly felt a lump gather in her throat. She had been terrified that another breakout would happen; it had been in the back of her mind the moment she set foot on the island. To have it happen on the very same night, though, was all the justification she needed to never set foot on that rock ever again. She had enough to worry about, and her "guest" last night was more then enough.

"Harley roughed him up pretty badly before reinforcements arrived to hold her down. Fortunately for us, Silva happens to be a former Gotham Amateur Boxing champion, and despite his bum leg, he was able to hold off Harley long enough. He's still in bad condition, but after seeing how dangerous and unreliable the asylum is becoming, we've moved him to the GCPD's 39th precinct. That's where he is being held for the moment," Montoya explained. For the moment? Wouldn't it make sense to hold him there indefinitely? The place had to have holding cells, and it had to be in better condition then Blackgate or the Asylum. Montoya seemed to pick up on this. "Believe me, it's better for everyone that we find another place for Silva. Until we have reason to tell you otherwise, that is where your meeting with him next week will be. There's still plenty about the Joker's gang that we don't know, and you remain the best tool we have to uncovering the whole thing."

Montoya then stood up, nodded to Kelly, and then turned to leave. Kelly then started after her. "Wait, I need to tell you something," She called. Montoya turned, concern etched in her face. "What is it?" Kelly started to speak when she remembered; _I'll find you, before they find me. _She paused, and then remembered something else. "You know that the mayor hired mercenaries, right?" Montoya grimaced. "Hey, I know that times are tough, but I'm just not sure that I can really make give you an opinion on the matter, sorry." "Alright, I understand. Please, stay safe," called Kelly. "Don't you worry, you can always trust Gotham's finest," Montoya beamed.

**Silva P.O.V.**

"Morphine," Silva whined. His leg was killing him, taking up where that psycho Harley left off. Hector had worked with Harley for years, and was convinced that she was at least part of the reason he finally had enough of the Joker's crap. Still, for all her many, many flaws, the woman knew how to fight. Harley had arrived about a year or two after Silva joined up, although the Joker probably had his "tentacles" in her a while beforehand. After shaking the dirty imagery from his mind, looked over at the EMT, who was the only other person in the medical station with him. He seemed to be reading a newspaper. "I said, morphine," Silva whined harder. "I heard you, but I'm busy," said the EMT, flipping through the paper. Where was a good shank when you needed one?

Silva looked at the front page, and suddenly couldn't stop smiling. His new BFF was on the front page, shaking hands with everyone's favorite ex-warden. Looks like he was the Gotham Gazette's top story. Joker certainly won't be happy. Good thing he was still locked in the Asylum, and Hector was in a police station. This was only a temporary fix, though, as Hector honestly felt that the precinct was little safer, and because his enemies here hated him for much longer and deeper then back at the island. Right on cue, the EMT said he needed to take a piss, and a minute after he left, several members of Gotham's finest spilled into the room. He could only shut his eyes and pray that Gordon would hurry the hell up before the beating went too far.

_"Davis, Silva, get your asses in here." That was something you didn't want to hear over a loudspeaker after a long truck drive home. He looked over at the old timer next to him, who just shrugged and suggested they head up before he got more pissed. They climbed the stairs up to the office, where a large shirtless bouncer opened the door and beckoned them in. Roman sat behind his desk, in a sparse office, puffing a cigar, talking into his cell phone. "Yes, they just arrived, I'll let them know. Don't you worry; I will take care of this issue internally. Thank you for your call, Mr. Falcone." A pit seemed to form in the bottom of Silva's stomach. Though he may have lacked his fathers reverence for the kingpin, he had hoped to stay away from Carmine Falcone's hit list. Sionis finished up with the cell, then looked at his two employees with an amused smirk. "Don't crap yourselves, I was just talking to Alberto."_

_Silva and the old-timer named Davis both breathed a sigh of relief. Try as he might, Alberto Falcone lacked the talents of his father in every discernable facet. Practically every organization Silva worked with mocked him behind his back, and Silva didn't pity the man himself. "Looks like you guys were busted en route to Bludhaven. This, gentlemen, has the potential to become a huge problem. Falcone, the one who matters, doesn't want us touching the Bludhaven markets. If someone's squealing, I want them found. Now, Davis, who pulled you over?" Sionis commanded. The old man spat, "Our old buddy, Detective Bullock." Roman looked thoughtful before speaking, "Hmph, the man is as crooked as you can get without being on the payroll. Still, can't have him jumping our out of town deliveries." Silva spoke up, "Want me to take him out?" Sionis shouted him down, "Shut up, you rank-ass amateur! Bullock isn't getting his information from nowhere. I'll have my guy tap into his communication channels, see who he's talking to, and __**I**__ alone will decide how to respond." He turned to Davis, "wire the payments to "my friend" before you head home."_

"He's waking up, Commissioner!"

Light slowly filled Hector's eyelids. The place he woke up in seemed significantly more cramped then the police stations medical station. The sirens, however, spoiled the guessing game. He looked around him, seeing to other occupants in the vehicle. One was yet another EMT, this one at least acting like a professional, and the other was Commissioner Gordon. Looks like you made it in time, after all, thought Silva. "We are moving you to another secure location. We're keeping this from public knowledge, and we intend to tell everyone not immediately involved that you are in a coma," said Gordon. Silva, grateful for the sweet, sweet sensation of painkillers, glared up at the veteran officer. Most long time criminals in this city had some kind of personal story with the dear commissioner, and Hector was no exception. Before his change of heart, there was no one in the world who Silva wanted to knife more then the man sitting alongside him now, and even afterwards, he was still fighting the urge. Hector could only groan, before speaking up, "What about your flunkies who jumped me? Let me guess, suspended without pay?" "They've been relegated to finding those Gotham cells you mentioned for the time being. I'd be more then happy punish them further, but I really can't spare any men right now. Besides, you are hardly just another innocent victim," Gordon growled.

Hector thought back to the Asylum. After Batman rescued Gordon from Harley and Bane, Silva had some of his men commandeer a patrol boat off the island. When Gordon had arrived on the boat, attempting to get back to Gotham, his men jumped him, and held him in the lighthouse until the Bat's final showdown with the Joker. A part of him still wished that those Titan monsters had eaten him, but the realization that Gordon was integral to amnesty kept some of his more personal comments in his head. As bad as Batman was, it was the commissioner's sanctimonious attitude, lording his morality over the poor, fallen criminals that rubbed so many of Hector's associates the wrong way. There was a reason the Joker was able to find more then enough volunteers to hit the commissioner where he lived. In retrospect, Silva thought, joining in really wasn't one of his proudest moments.

"So, how is your daughter, anyway?" Silva blurted out. _IDIOT!_ The painkillers had messed him up more then he thought. Why did you think this was a good idea, you idiot, he asked himself. Probably the same reason he called the world's worst birthday clown "Boss." The commissioner looked over the fallen felon. Silva couldn't see his eyes in the dim light, so he could only guess what was going through Gordon's mind. "Up the dosage, the man needs rest."

**Kelly P.O.V.**

"Hey, this is Kenny Chen, I'm not available at the moment, so please leave a message, and I'll probably get back to you. Maybe. Later. Bye."

**Beep**

"Hey, Ken, it's me, Kelly. … Listen, I know I haven't called for a while, but I just wanted to check up on you, see, er, hear if you were doing O.K.? I tried calling your folks, but they won't talk to me. …I really miss you. Please, call me back."

Kelly sighed. Three months after the incident, and she got nothing. If something had happened, she would have heard it, she just knew it. Well, now what? She didn't feel like chatting with her little sister, she was probably at some party anyway, and she was going through kind of a rough patch with her father right now. She walked over to the window bars, testing them. The landlord worked fast, she would give him that. The typical evening ritual seemed appealing, but the more she thought about it, the less appealing it seemed to be. She rode the freaking Batmobile last night. She needed to do something that spontaneous again. Get drunk, start a fight, go home with a strange man. On second thought, that last one probably wasn't such a good idea in this city. None of them were, really. Still, alcohol seemed like a really welcome diversion. There was a nice corner store about five blocks away, and it wasn't sundown yet.

One short bike ride later, she was browsing through a nearly empty store, looking at a selection of "vintage" liquors. She had thought back to her college days. She had been a serious student at Blue Valley, but the unwritten motto of the campus had been "Work hard, Play hard." It went without saying that there were some of her adventures at Blue Valley weren't included in her letters home. Still, it was more then a little sad that she was going to just go home and drink alone, but it beat barhopping. She had enough of that in college.

After picking out some Koul-Brau, she walked up to the counter to check out her order. The man in his 40's behind the counter was on the phone, speaking softly into the phone. "…you sure she's her… alright, how soon will you be here… nice. See you in a bit." He put the phone away, and looked at Kelly coldly. "Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Andrews?" How did he know her name? "I hope you can stick around for a while, I have some friends who really want to talk to you. That is, if you haven't helped put them away yet." She dropped her pack of liquor, and started pounding on the auto-locked door, screaming for someone to hear her. The man vaulted behind the counter, grabbing her by the hair and throwing her away from the door. Her glasses knocked off, the reached wildly around her for a weapon, settling for one of the broken bottles from her dropped pack. Steadying herself, she swung wildly at her assailant, driving his back to the door. If I can just get someone to notice, she told herself, I could get help. The moment after she processed that thought, she felt two strong arms. One grabbed her arm wielding the bottle, and the other put a moist cloth over her mouth…

**Silva P.O.V.**

"Home sweet home, Silva," Gordon quipped. Since when did he grow a sense of humor? Silva woke up to find himself in a place where many criminals in Gotham spent so much of their time. The sewers. In particular, an empty storage room in the sewers. The reeking quality, admittedly, carried with it some vague nostalgic stench, but surely Gordon realized that there was enough criminal traffic crawling though here to make this a lousy hiding spot. "This particular section of the sewer is closed for "construction," and only a select few city workers are allowed down here at any given time," Gordon announced to Silva. O.K. maybe the man was smarter then Silva gave him credit. "I've allowed for some amenities to make you feel more comfortable." Silva looked around the room. Fridge, TV, couch. Heaven. "I've also assigned a few officers I trust to guard you for the time being. I'm sure you are familiar with Officers Renee Montoya and Crispus Allen?" If memory served, Silva once put a bullet in Allen's leg, and he was pretty sure it was Montoya who returned the favor.

"I'm pretty sure that I can turn half these things in the room into weapons, Gordon," Silva japed. "I know you can, but you won't. This is the only safe place for you in the city, and I know you're just smart enough not to blow this." Gordon turned to leave. "The door will be locked at all times. My men will be here shortly, so make yourself comfortable. Oh, and by the way…" he stopped at the door, and turned to look Silva in the eyes, "whatever happened to those two buddies of yours, anyway?" Silva glared at Gordon. Of all people, how dare he bring them up? "Don't you ever mention my daughter again," and with that, Commissioner Gordon slammed the door.

**Kelly P.O.V.**

"Wakey-wakey, Kelly-Kelly." Kelly fluttered her eyes open. Her arms felt like someone roughly tied them to a steel chair. Everything was blurry without her glasses, but she could make out five different figures in the room with her. The one closest to her leaned in, and she could make out the distinctive markings of a clown mask. "So, what did old man Silva talk to you about? Did he mention anything that could come around to bite us, as it were?" her interrogator chirped. Kelly's head was foggy enough already. "Wh-where am I?" The interrogator sighed, and then proceeded to snap his fingers. Kelly felt a blow hammer her in the ribs, and winced from the pain. " I don't think you understand just how far up the creek you are, Kelly-Kelly. Again, what did old man Silva tell you?" "Who are you?" This time, it was her opposite ribs. "God, it's the simplest freaking premise, woman. I ask questions, you answer. Now, what did old man Silva tell you?" Kelly stopped being confused, and started to get scared. "N-nothing, please!" She felt someone grab the back of her chair and threw her to the ground. "Oh, come on, could you at least try to be believable. O.K., simpler questions, does the GCPD know about the cells?" Kelly, still trying to re-orient herself over where she was, sputtered out, "What cells?" with tears streaming down her face.

The other men looked at each other. "Maybe she didn't find out anything?" "Yeah, and maybe Rory, George, and Chuckles groups just vanished into thin air, you moron." "They probably don't know where all of us are, anyway. I mean, how could they know?" "I think I have a way to figure it out." Her interrogator leaned towards her face; his breath stank heavily through the mask. "How many cells do they know about?" Kelly, racking her brains to come up with a believable answer that wouldn't warrant getting hit again, yelled out "SIX! WITH ONE IN BLUDHAVEN!" Nothing came, then the interrogator spoke again, "And did he talk about our friend from out of town?" "N-n-no, he di…OUGH," Kelly winced as a boot drove itself into her stomach. "Actually, on second thought, I believe you, so, uh, whoopsy." The rest of the captors laughed.

"Well, Kelly-Kelly, it's been tons of fun playing twenty questions with you, but right now, my friends and me are going to have to skip town. Normally, we'd love to take you with, but you are more useful as a missing person then a full-fledged hostage. It would be better for everyone, in this instance, if we tied a cinderblock to your feet, and threw you in the Gotham harbor with the rest of the unsolved cases. Sound good?" her interrogator condescended to her, as if this was some casual date they had just wrapped up. "Please, let me go, I won't say anything. Just please, let me go." Her captor exhaled, scratched the top of his head, then replied, "O.K., but only because you asked nicely, we won't drown you." He then reached behind him, pulled out a revolver, and then held it to her temple. "This more your speed?" he cheerfully inquired.

From that moment forward, it seemed like time stopped. It looked like the stories were true, your life really does flash before your eyes before you die. There were so many things she regretted not telling people when she had the chance. Now here was how it was all going to end. She closed her eyes, tears streaming through them, and tried to spend her last thoughts thinking about the ones she loved. Dad, Zoey, Ken. I'm so, so, sorry.

At that moment, something barreled through the doorway. Kelly shot her eyes wide open. Crappy vision aside, that sounded an awful lot like a motorcycle. It slammed into the wall, scaring her captors. "What the… it's empty, there's no one on it!" she heard one of the thugs scream. Suddenly a swishing sound cut through the air, causing two of her captors to double over in pain. "Not you, again!" she heard her interrogator scream, and heard sounds of a fight break out. No, not a fight, a very one-sided beating. When the scuffle came to a close, a very familiar clown-mask landed right in front off her. She heard footsteps walking towards, and she struggled to get a good look at her rescuer. He walked behind her, set the chair upright, and cut her bonds.

"Excuse me, miss, but I think these are yours," her rescuer said as he handed her glasses to her. She took them, put them on, and surveyed the room for the first time. Five guys, most of them with clown masks, all scattered across the floor. A motorcycle, which apparently busted through the door, had slammed into the side of the wall, but looked remarkably intact. There were tons of beer crates all around her, and she slowly realized that she must be in the backroom storage of the shop. Finally, she turned behind her, and looked at who she now considered to be the most beautiful man in the world. Lean, athletic, covered from toe to neck in flexible body armor, and sporting a domino mask. "Is everything O.K., miss…" "Thank you!" she screamed as she flung herself onto her rescuer, hugging him tightly, afraid he'd vanish if she let go. She was hysterical, and the tears she had been trying to fight back flowed freely.

**Same deal, same deal.**


	7. Chapter 6: Harsh Truths

**Batman Fun Fact #5,742: I don't own any of it.**

Chapter 6:

**Vicki P.O.V.**

Vicki stormed through the GCPD precinct, panicking several rookie officers and putting some of the veterans on high alert. Fuming, she stormed up to an office, labeled "H. Bullock, Lieutenant" and started beating on the door. "BULLOCK, YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR, NOW!" A rookie officer, six months out of the academy, gingerly approached the reporter. "Umm… Ma'am… Bullock is out of his office," he cautiously informed her. "I swear to God, the next time I see that pig-headed nimrod, I'm gonna scalp him!" Vicki growled, before turning on the petrified rookie. "Well, if you don't know where Bullock is, then where is Andrews?" The officer pointed down the hallway, "First responders brought her down that way. She's…well…" Vicki leaned in close to the rookie. "Well, well, what?" she demanded. "She's in the drunk tank."

**Kelly P.O.V.**

Her head was killing her. She shifted around on the small cot, trying to find a position that would help clear out her head. She wanted to go back to sleep so badly. Her dream had just been getting good. She and her rescuer were just finishing up their date at the Metropolis carnival, and were just ending their day riding the Ferris wheel. After a particularly intense make-out session, her rescuer proceeded to tear off his shirt and threw Kelly down on the king-sized bed that happened to be in their cabin. Before it went any further, Kelly had to quickly evacuate from the fantasy in order to retch into the bucket in her cell. Dammit, her fault for choosing the Ferris wheel.

She heard the door click, opening to reveal one of the last people she wanted to see tonight. _Oh God, please not her. Please, don't let her see me like this._ Kelly turned to face the wall, desperately pretending to still be passed out. She felt a hand on her shoulder. "I know you're awake. C'mon, I'm taking you home," Vicki whispered. Kelly, blurry eyed and exhausted, slowly climbed up and propped herself on Vicki, who helped carry out her traumatized protégé. Kelly felt her midsection throbbing, where those asshats had been working her over. In retrospect, maybe filling up oneself with alcohol after a particularly traumatizing event wasn't the best course of action. Screw it, she told herself.

"We're taking the elevator to my car. Is your stomach feeling any better?" Vicki asked. Kelly moaned. All she wanted to do was lie down. Down the hall, they passed some thick office windows. Kelly looked at them, seeing her reflection for the first time. _Baggy eyes, bed-hair, runny nose. Well, at least I look better then I feel. _They came to an abrupt stop. Kelly looked up, seeing Bullock just step out of another office, looking surlier then normal. "Wait here," Vicki growled, sitting Kelly down on a bench. Vicki then marched up to Bullock, and was about to lay into him, when she was interrupted with a sincere "I'm sorry."

Vicki was stunned. Bullock looked at her. "I did have some of my guys assigned to tail Ms. Andrews ever since she said yes to the interviews. I didn't want to spook her, so I didn't tell her. However, since word got out that we were keeping Silva in local holding, the guys on the evening shift thought it would be a good idea to "pay him a visit." Long story short, I just got done chewing those idiots out, but I figured I'd personally apologize to her over this particular embarrassment." Bullock looked over at Kelly, who had passed out on the bench, then figured he'd save it for later. "So, if you still want to call me a jackass, feel free," Bullock concluded. Vicki, reluctantly placated over Bullocks involvement in this mess, still glared at him. She needed something to be pissed at. Sighing, she resignedly breathed "jackass," though it was clear her heart wasn't in it. "Now that the therapy session is over, I'm off to interrogate five new friends. I'll send a recording to Kelly, if she's interested." and with that, Bullock tipped his hat, and went on his way.

**Silva P.O.V.**

_Hector had brought up a cross guard, as Ron threw jab after jab into it. Since middle school, his father suggested an activity that could keep him occupied and out of trouble. Just because the Falcones hired criminals didn't mean they lacked standards. A juvenile delinquent or a drop out could only advance so far, even in organized crime. A better upbringing led to a better quality of criminal, as Rodrigo always told his son. An activity that could keep him out of trouble, yet instill in him "life skills," turned out to be boxing. Since day one, he had been matched with Ronald W. Brandt, due to how close their weights were, and had been sparing partners ever since. Crap, one minute in and I'm already at the corner, thought Hector. Ron's been practicing._

_ Ducking away from the corner, narrowly missing a straight, Hector widened the distance between them. Ron was a natural out-boxer, however, and tended to dominate spars that kept Silva at a distance. Contrary-wise, it would only take a few body blows from Hector to kneel Ron over. Bracing himself, he charged, weathering the storm Ron unleashed. As the gap closed, they started trading shots, until they both launched simultaneous hooks, crashing both fighters to the ground. The bell rang, ending the spar. Ron, panting heavily, opened the ropes to allow Hector through._

_ In the lockers, both men took a shower, and were getting ready to call it a day, or night as it were. "That Sionis cat, he isn't as much of a pushover as I thought," said Ron, before gargling the shower water and spitting it. "Yeah, no kidding. He's actually trying move some product to Bludhaven." The gym was a legal business, but they were alone in the lockers, so they were free to talk shop as long as they wanted._

_"Bludhaven? I thought old man Falcone forbade anyone from touching that market?" asked Ron, incredulously._

_ Although profit was the name of the game, what Falcone truly desired from the city was a sense of order and control. The Falcones rose to prominence, not from being the most dangerous family in the city, but by becoming essential to the city's "natural order." Years ago, the Falcone family had kept the Irish, Sicilian, Italian, Russian, and Chinese mobs from each other's throats. By being able to unite all the gangs and families under a unified banner, the Falcones were able to accomplish something that the city council and the police never could. They knew this, of course, because they had allowed Carmine Falcone to become the de facto kingpin of Gotham. There was a reason they knew that the mayor called Carmine Falcone "sir." The only reason why nobody stopped him was because nobody could. So what was Roman thinking when he ordered Davis and him down to Bludhaven?_

_"Maybe it's a new policy, or maybe the gangbangers down south are going through a bit of a rough period, who knows?" commented Silva, off-handedly. "Honestly, we aren't getting paid that much to worry about it." In a single night, they had brought home a total of $13,590 dollars. It was the enough to last them three months. If Sionis is more then happy to hand over such money to part-time help, how much was he willing to hand over for three "made-men?" "You think it's worth it?" asked Silva. Ron scratched the bottom of his goatee, "What do you think Charlie will say?" _

_Charlie had gone to bed early. Recently, he had been spending most of his late evenings and early mornings at a club called "My Alibi." Frequently unlucky with women, Charlie had taken up going to some "burlesque" shows. What Charlie did in his own time was his business, but whenever they needed him, he was there, so it really didn't bother them. "Well, it's not like those lap dances are going to buy themselves, are they?" Silva joked, and he and Ron laughed._

The new amenities Gordon had provided had done little to alleviate the boredom that usually accompanied incarceration. Silva still found himself dozing off on the couch, usually with the TV on. Mostly local crap and infomercials. He did, however, catch Gotham Nightly News's feature on "The Jokerz." Hector winced at the name. Jokerz, Joy-boys, Stooges, none of those names really appealed to him, even when he was still a member of… whatever they called themselves. It was funny, eight years, and not once did the subject of a name pop up, from what he could remember.

His stomach was rumbling. "Hey, guys, how much will it take for you to get a pizza down here?" He called to the doorway. Officers Montoya and Allen were both positioned at the sides of the door, and hadn't seemed to move an inch since they arrived. All of Silva's attempts at conversation had been shot down. To be expected, he thought to himself. He struggled to remember, was it a bank robbery where he shot Allen in the leg, or was it when he and some of his boys took over one of the docks to rob a freighter? Oh right, now he remembered! "The zeppelin!" he exclaimed, smile on his face. No reaction, though he could have sworn he saw Allen's lip curl just a little.

He snuggled back into the couch, watching some kind of "community theatre" that they padded onto public access. Honestly, he'd kill for a punching bag. Technically, maybe, he had some, but they were armed. "So, what did I do to those piggies who jumped me, anyway?" yelled Silva. Surprisingly, he got a response. "You really don't remember, _burro?_" snarled Montoya. Sounded like she had been bottling this up since she came down. Good, his hot therapist back at the asylum always told him not to keep these things inside. "No, that's why I'm asking," replied Silva, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You…work… for the biggest cop-killer this city has ever had! I've lost friends to that psychopath! We all have! Hell, how many have you killed, yourself?" Montoya started towards him, only to be held back by her partner. "Renee, get some air, please," said Allen. Renee left without saying another word. Pity, she was the cuter of the two. He was about to settle back when Allen spoke up. "She did ask you a question, Silva." Silva sighed, looked at Allen, square in the eyes, and answered "Nine," before promptly settling back into the couch. No use trying to get comfortable now, he thought.

**Kelly P.O.V.**

Kelly woke up in the front seat of Vicki's car. Immediately, she could tell that they weren't going back to her apartment above the coffee shop. "I've taken the liberty of giving you a new place to stay, Kelly, in light of recent events," said Vicki, as she pulled into a parking garage. This was one of the high-end districts, right in downtown Gotham. "Vicki, I don't think I can afford this," said Kelly as she looked at the cars around them. High end sports cars, classics her dad had pinned all over his garage, they made Vicki's pricy convertible seem downright modest. "You won't be paying rent, you'll be my roommate, temporarily," said Vicki, as they made their way to the lobby. When they entered, Kelly felt like they had gone back in time. This was like something she read out of that Gatsby book in high school, but for some reason, everything seemed like it just flowed together naturally, and nothing felt gaudy. "My place is on the 27th floor, unless you want to gawk longer," Vicki called after her, prompting Kelly to follow her to the elevator.

"So, where exactly are we?" asked Kelly. "Wayne Towers, one of the best places in Gotham to lay your head after a long night," said Vicki. "Cozy, private, and with a view to kill for, I can't imagine going anywhere else. This place really justifies its price the moment you walk in." The elevator stopped at the 27th, and Vicki and Kelly disembarked down a long hallway with a single door at the end. Upon reaching the door, Vicki unlocked it; ushering Kelly inside what she thought was one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever laid eyes on. The very definition of ultra-modern, Kelly swept her eyes everywhere, from the minibar, to the designer couches surrounding the 80" wall mounted plasma screen, to the huge window balcony that took up an entire wall. There were paintings, statues, and even… no, there was no way. _A Jacuzzi! _Kelly looked over at Vicki, trying to understand how she could afford all this. "Let's just say that it took more then some Pulitzer's to rent this. Part of it was from a bonus from the station. Truth be told, it's mostly because I lost a bet with the owner."

"Wait, you got all this from a bet… that you lost?" Kelly was positive that the woman was pulling her leg. "What would you have gotten if you won?" Vicki sighed, "It's all ancient history, now. Anyway, I've asked GCR if it is at all possible to transfer you to be my PA. Nothing is set yet, since I asked them to get your permission first. I guarantee you, I pay much better then those misers down in GCR, but, I'll leave your decision to you."

After Vicki left, Kelly sat herself down on the couch. As she did, a sobering thought crept through her mind. _The only reason she's doing any of this is so you keep interviewing Silva. The room, her job, even her friendship, it all had a catch. This is just so she hopes I forget about those thugs who jumped me. All she wants me to do is keep interviewing that creep._ The thought had dampened her mood, but only for a minute. _So what, who cares as long as I get to do something that matters. As dangerous as this can be, as long as I get to do something meaningful, I get to do the very thing I was made to do._ From that point forward, Kelly committed herself to do everything in her power to put the most dangerous man in the most dangerous city into the ground.

**Bullock P.O.V.**

"Any day now, princesses, you can give up whenever you want." Bullock bellowed around the writhing cons. Since the cell jumped Kelly, he had been more thorough then usual in his interrogation. Normally, his heavy handed tactics would have some criminal defense lawyers salivating, but the few positive aspects of the new Arkham City Commission had been providing some… leeway towards law enforcement. He looked down at the ringleader, a young, scrappy guy in his mid-twenties, currently nursing a broken nose. He grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him up to the one-way mirror.

"Anything smart to say, you little bastard? Not so tough when you aren't slapping around women, are you, huh?" The little bastard made a comment that surely would have disappointed his mother, so Bullock belted him in the gut. He was about to ask again when he heard a knock on the door. "Sorry guys, the donut truck pulled up. Don't worry, I'll be back," quipped Bullock as he left. The moment he stepped out of the door, he was greeted by the former boy wonder himself, or whatever he called himself.

"I thought your boss had you rounding guys up in Bludhaven," Bullock snarled as he drew a pot of coffee. "I was going to, but those mercenaries the mayor hired made quick work of the cells. I actually came up here because I thought you guys would need more help," the junior vigilante answered. Bullock snorted. The kid was more personable then his boss, sure, but he still took the law into his own hands. Bullock did what he did because it was his job; this kid did it because he got bored. "Let me talk to them, I'm sure I can pick up where you left off," said the kid. Cocky little bastard. Bullock sighed, "Fine, I was going to get something to eat, anyway. But when I get back, you better not be here."

**Later, in the interrogation room...**

Clint Russell had been diagnosed as a psychopath just before he dropped out of high school. Angry and bitter that he couldn't hold down a job, place, or girl, he took his anger out on anything in reach. During his second period of incarceration, his cellmate offered to set him up with a group where he could be completely honest with the person he truly was. Upon having his bail mysteriously paid, Clint found himself outside the Sionis Steelworks. There, he met the gang. Joker, his dumb bimbo Harley, that creep Scarecrow, that other creep Victor Zsasz, and his new supervisor, Hector Silva. That man rode him relentlessly, day and night, until Hector finally said stop. "You have slightly more brains then most of the idiots here. Believe me, that isn't much of a compliment. Still, I think I have some way you can be useful."

And so he stuck him with four other guys, who were based in a cheap liquor store. Their jobs varied from week to week. Some days they just laundered money for the Joker, other days they worked on bombs and gadgets in the back, and other days, his particular favorite days, they would kidnap a lackey from Penguin, Two-face, or some other rich jackass, and beat the living piss out of them. Sometimes, they'd get some decent info out of it, but mostly, Clint thought about how powerful it felt to slowly see the life leave the eyes of another living thing. Still, every now and then, they'd run into one of those freaks in capes, but apart from that, they hadn't been arrested until now.

The rest of his guys were out cold. All he could do was clutch his bloody nose and fume over not putting a bullet into the skull of that weepy broad quicker. If Joker found out they failed, the best he could hope for was that he was so much more pissed at Silva, that he'd just forget about him. The door opened, and the Boy Wonder himself made his way inside. Clint growled. Of all the members of the Bat's entourage, this kid was probably the most infuriating. He was so happy to hear that he moved down to Bludhaven, and he wouldn't have to listen to his quips anymore. Still, the temptation was just too strong to resist. "Holy big boy pants, Batman, it's Ro-*blugh*" he was interrupted as a boot connected with his stomach. "I have a new name, Mr. Russell," Nightwing responded.

"Now, tell me who told you to target Ms. Andrews," he ordered, loudly. "Your mother," coughed Clint. "Not in the mood," glowered Nightwing, "and if you say, "that's what she said," I will kick you again." Clint, silently kicking himself for missing such a setup, looked up at last season's boy wonder. "I was told by the same guy who wants Silva buried, too." Nightwing stared down at the felon. How was Joker still communicating with his men? He had been in lockdown ever since the uprising, and he had no idea how they could be sending information to his men on the outside. Maybe he should bring this up with Kelly, it would make a valuable question to Silva. It was clear that this guy wouldn't talk anymore. He was about to leave when the man called after him. "Don't think we're the only ones after the two of them. Remember when Joker hired those eight assassins to off the Bat? Well, this time, he found some other guys, and these guys will bring both their heads to Joker. The boss will not die in the electric chair; he will burn Gotham to the ground before that happens. This ain't over, Nightwing, it's only just beginning!"

The door slammed shut. Nightwing made his way down the hall of the GCPD. More assassins? This wasn't good, not at all. He needed to talk to Bruce, ASAP. If there were anyone who could be considered an expert at assassination thwarting, it would be his mentor. Still, he was more then a little occupied with Arkham City, and all its dirty secrets. With Bruce occupied for the time being, he figured it would be best if he handled the matter personally. Not alone though, there was still a phone call he had to make. He ducked into the bathroom, and after looking around to see if he was alone, or if the room was bugged, brought his wrist to his mouth. "Hey, Oracle, long time, no see. Anyway, I need you to do me a favor…"

**Did you know that leaving reviews and feedback for writers makes you more attractive to the opposite sex (or same, I don't judge)? It's true; I read it on the Internet. Read, wrote, whatever.**


	8. Chapter 7: Falling and Rising

**I do not own anything related to D.C. Comics.**

**Authors note: Now that I finally have feedback, I'll be taking it easier on the disclaimers.**

Chapter 7: Falling and Rising

**Silva P.O.V.**

Hector had requested an electric razor from his bodyguards and, to his surprise, received one. It was something that Blackgate considered to be "contraband," but since he was on mostly good behavior, his personal jailers allowed him a few small comforts every now and then. Hector wondered to himself whether he would be on the GCPD's Christmas card list if things fell through and the Joker finally fried. The electric razor was gentle around his scar, and didn't agitate what had over the years proved to be a sensitive area. "Done," he finished sweetly, as Officer Allen opened the door to the bathroom.

Every time he needed to take a dump, one of the officers escorted him to another part of the sewers to use a bathroom. You'd think all he had to do was lean over the water a little bit until he was done, but his guards insisted he use the bathroom like a civilized person. Civilized, Hector thought, like they've forgotten whom they were dealing with. Out of all the guard rotations he had, his personal favorite pairing was Montoya and Allen. Allen because he never lost his temper, despite the constant badgering from Hector, and Montoya because she had such a killer body.

When they arrived back, Allen opened the door to Hector's cell to find himself looking at an unexpected visitor. "Hello Mr. Allen, I'm Kelly. Pleased to meet you." Both Allen and Silva were caught off guard. Neither of them had heard anything about an interview right now, but Hector found himself more distracted by what was sitting on the couch. _Pizza!_ He was about to bound right through the doorway when he felt the butt of a shotgun slam itself into his stomach. "You're not going anywhere, Silva," growled Montoya. "Montoya, please, it's quite alright," Kelly insisted, as she helped Silva to his feet. Funny, first she could hardly look me in the eye, now she's graduated to touching me, thought Silva. She helped Silva towards the couch, sitting him down next to the box. "I need to talk to Crispus and Renee for a minute, if that's OK?" said Kelly. "Sure, _Mom,_" cracked Silva, as he opened the box and started looking over the pieces. After chocking down that crap at Blackgate and the Asylum, I'm down for anything, thought Silva, unless it's Hawaiian.

The door shut, leaving Silva to his thoughts. About two weeks back, he overheard two of his other guards mention, while Hector pretended to be asleep, that one of the Jokers' cells, the one led by Clint evidently, jumped her and beat the living piss out of her. After interrogating her for a minute, a new record considering what Silva remembered about the guys, they came dangerously close to putting a bullet in her skull when that pretty boy burst in like some big damn hero. When the cops found her, she had apparently helped herself to some of the liquor at their store.

Do you have any idea what you just avoided, kid, thought Silva. He remembered Clint, remembered training him, remembered ripping into him, and remembered beating him to within an inch of his life, to see what that man was made of. Clint was a man who hated the world, his family, his classmates, his previous jobs, and women, which Hector had come to recognize as total self-loathing. What he lacked in self-esteem and empathy, he made up for in his capacity for cruelty. If memory served, he had been serving time for breaking into the apartment of an ex-girlfriend, or someone he considered an ex-girlfriend, and had been assaulting her until the police arrived. If you understand what you're getting yourself into, thought Hector, you're braver or stupider then I thought. He could never tell the difference.

It didn't take nearly enough time as he thought until Kelly finally returned, alone. "Where are our two buddies?" asked Hector. "This will just be a conversation between you and me. They are waiting outside, and will burst in at a moments notice, but I don't think any of that will be necessary, will it, Hector?" asked Kelly. Silva looked at Kelly, than started to smirk. "You survive one beating, and all of a sudden you think you're some hot-shot." Kelly started to gape. "I know, cops like to gossip. Clint's a scumbag, and if Joker didn't have him on such a tight leash, I doubt either of us would want to think about what could have happened." Kelly gulped, then found her voice. "Well… he is one of the guy's you hired, right?" Silva snorted, "I hired lots of guys. Most of the time, all Joker was looking for was someone who could use a gun, and it was up to me to figure out who was worth keeping on long term and who Joker was free to use as a test dummy."

Kelly brought out her notebook. "I realize this should be probably be obvious by now, but you don't seem to have any fondness for anyone you trained. "When most of the guy's you train turn into cannon fodder for the stupidest reasons, you learn pretty quick how to stop caring." Hector sighed, wistfully. "You know, it wasn't always like this…"

_One month after Hector first joined up with Sionis, Hector found himself standing by the Steel Mill, Uzi by his hip. Convincing Charlie to sign up had gone easier then expected, and all three friends had quickly become ingrained in the operation. Charlie had been working at the underground lab as some kind of "attendant," to the chemists below. Ron and Hector, on the other hand, were on the fast track to becoming Roman's personal bodyguards. Apparently, they had come highly recommended from someone close to Sionis. Evidently, that someone was a boxing fan._

_ In the past few weeks, Hector and Ron had traded in their well-worn hoodies and jeans for well-tailored black sharkskin suits. In addition, they had also gone from a "Mac-and-cheese for breakfast" diet to eating out at reputable establishments on a daily basis. Sionis, himself, seemed to be getting in a better mood, as the month dragged on. He even personally called Hector, asking him how soon he could get down to the Steel Mill that night. Sure enough, a white, tinted windowed Cadillac drove up to the corner he was standing on, with Sionis rolling down the window in the back seat. "Well, you waiting for Christmas? Get in!"_

_ Roman seemed a little different, today. Today, he seemed…giddy. Hector obeyed his boss's wishes, sitting next to him in the back seat. After he shut the door, he noticed that Davis was driving them. Over the past few weeks, he had learned that Davis was something of a freelancer, who was typically hired by the older crime families of Gotham. He was known for being very picky about his clientele, so having him work for a fledgling crime boss was seen as something of a big deal in the Gotham underworld. He looked back at his boss, and noticed that he was excitedly drumming his fingers on a silver briefcase. "So, Hector, tell me, you smoke?" Roman said as he held out a cigar. Hector politely declined, seeing as tobacco was what put his old man under, and asked about the occasion. "Remember our old friend Bullock? Well, my "friend" just intercepted a call between him and another associate of ours. Ready for a long drive?"_

_ They took off, leaving the husk of a steel mill behind as they drove through the busy Gotham streets, Davis expertly weaving through the traffic. "Tell me, Silva, what do you know about the Bertinelli family?" asked Sionis, off handedly. "They're part of the Sicilian mob, usually run some rackets between here and Bludhaven," answered Silva. "Oh, almost correct, Silva, but the truth is that they __ran__ rackets in those cities, or at least, not for much longer. My guy just figured out they were ratting out our out-of-town deliveries, so I've decided to call a surprise meeting," Sionis said, opening the briefcase. He reached in, taking out what looked like a wooden black skull. "You and Davis ought to put yours on, too." Silva reached under his seat, and felt what looked like a plastic mask underneath. It looked a lot like Roman's mask, and he saw Davis fiddling with one, too._

_ They turned into a back alley, and parked the car outside a back exit. Roman, Davis, and Silva all piled out and waited at the exit. Roman took out his cell phone, texted something, than snapped his phone shut, put it in his pocket, and pulled out a magnum, with Davis pulling out his own revolver as well. The three men waited in silence as the sounds of machinegun fire and shattered glass echoed on the other side of the building. Footsteps pounded through the other side of the doorway, and the door swung open to reveal Franco Bertinelli, a bodyguard, and a young pre-teen girl. In a single second, Roman slammed his fist into Bertinelli's face, Davis shot the bodyguard in the head, and Silva grabbed the girl in a bear hug. "So, Frankie-boy, how's the whole "police informant" gig going for you?" Roman asked through his mask. He had grabbed the former crime boss by the collar, letting the blood slide down across his face. He threw Bertinelli across the alleyway, slamming him into a bunch of garbage cans. "What the… I have no clue what you're talking about! Who sent you, who hired you? Was it that Mandragora bastard?"_

_ The girl Silva had wrapped in a bear hug was struggling. She seemed to be wearing a prep school uniform, and wore her hair in pigtails. She didn't look anything like her old man, at any rate, thought Silva. Franco was mustachioed, greasy, and wearing a thousand dollar suit. "You can stop playing innocent, Bertinelli. We've been ID'ing your calls to Bullock, and coincidentally, every call you made were followed by one of our shipments being intercepted. Now tell me, how did that happen?" Roman bellowed. Bertinelli was about to answer when his cell phone went off in his front pocket. Roman reached in, flipped it open, and put it on speaker. "Yo, Franco, I just got word from some of the guys at the station that one of the families is going to make a move on your place. You there?" asked a familiar voice over the receiver. Roman held the phone close towards Bertinelli, who glared up at the skulled face of his soon to be executioner. "Forget it, Bullock, I'll take care of the matter myself," and with that, Roman snapped the phone in half._

_"So tell me, Bertinelli, why were you so intent on upsetting the established order of Gotham?" Roman asked. "The Falcones' are stagnant. They don't have any ambition. The entire city under their thumbs and what do they do with it? They keep the whole thing running like clockwork, without bothering to upset their precious "established order", and you know why?" Roman shook his head. "They're weak. They're going to fall with or without my actions. One day, something is going to take them out, and one day, someone's going to have step up and keep Gotham from eating itself alive. The Falcones can't do it, so I will!" Bertinelli screamed. "Correction, you were," Roman stated, as he leveled his gun towards Bertinelli's throat. "HELENA, RU…"*BANG*. _

_Hearing her old man's last words must have flipped a switch in the young girl's head, as she bit down hard on Silva's arm. Freeing herself, she took off in the direction where they parked their car, its still active headlights blinding them when they tried to follow. "Leave her be, she's just a kid. Hardly worth the trouble. She didn't recognize any of us," proposed Davis. Roman huffed, then walked back to the car. "We got a long week ahead. Time to flush out anyone who could have been helping them."_

Two hours and three fourths of a pizza later, Silva had made mention of several other recruiters that could further destabilize the Joker's presence outside in the city. After writing down twenty new names, Kelly thanked him, and was about to leave when Silva grabbed her wrist. "Do you know anything about my end of the deal? Are the GCPD talking to the Feds yet? I need details, woman!" Both officers burst through the door, guns drawn. Kelly motioned for them to stand down, then turned back to Silva. "I'm not at liberty to tell you anything, but I promise you, if I hear anything, I will be more then happy to tell you. I need you to stay calm, and continue to tell me what I need to know." Silva reluctantly released her. "You staying in the same place?" he asked. "What does it matter to you?" asked Kelly. "Getting jumped by Clint's group was an accident, bad luck, but by now Joker will be dipping into his war chest to shut both of us up. With most of the gang looking at Arkham City, they'll be pulling out all the stops to make sure neither of us survives. Wait a week, then find another place to live, and don't leave an impression. That would be my advice."

**Kelly P.O.V.**

Kelly thanked him for the suggestion, then left. Of all the godforsaken places that they could hold the interview, what prompted them to choose the sewers? This place wasn't just gross, it offended her very nostrils. She had to breathe into a handkerchief on the way out. The sewers had a reputation for being the blood vessels for Gotham's rotting heart, or something like that. Despite the cosmically small odds that she'd run into him, she kept her eyes peeled for a large green human-reptile. Montoya had taken the liberty of escorting her to the entrance, and Kelly insisted that she take a cab.

On the drive back, Kelly mulled over the interview. In addition to the recruiters, Silva also pointed to several training facilities where new members were broken down until they were made into fanatically loyal suicide soldiers. The process was as intensive as it was chilling, and Kelly found herself with a sense of newfound dread towards the Joker's martial prowess. A man with so few scruples and no sense of morality should not have an entire army at his beck and call. She was tallying the figures together from what Silva told her, and she had come to estimate that the Joker's gang numbered out to approximately five thousand members. She gulped. Sharp and TYGER had better speed up with those walls.

She arrived at Wayne Towers before sunset. Riding the elevator to the 27th floor, she prepared herself towards her new full time job. It took less then a week for Kelly to quit her job at GCR, though she took special care not to burn any bridges, and became Vicki Vale's full time Personal Assistant. Namely, that meant booking and scheduling the appointments for her night owl of a boss, as Vicki usually spent her daytime hours sleeping, not waking up until well in the afternoon. In an effort to kiss up to her boss/roommate, Kelly had taken up to fixing breakfast before she woke up. It was a pretty good gig, as when Vicki left for the night, Kelly would have the whole apartment for herself. She had room service, five hundred channels, and the best view money could buy in Gotham. For someone who had learned to despise Gotham's reputation, she had to confess that the view of the skyline at night was… stellar.

All of a sudden, the elevator grinded to a halt. Kelly stumbled for a bit, before looking at the floor reader. She was only on the 15th floor. She pressed the emergency service button, and asked if management could send a repair crew. "Don't worry, babe, it's only a temporary inconvenience, but I was hoping we could talk in the mean time." A pit formed in the bottom of Kelly's stomach. No, please, not _her_ again. "Uh, listen, lady, I'm under constant police escort, and when they catch you…" Kelly tried to threaten. "Oh, I know exactly who you are, Kelly Andrews, and trust me, the GCPD has nothing I haven't seen before. I know a lot about you, Kelly. Blue Valley alumni, worked at KTPN outside of Metropolis, boyfriend was an EMT who just recently had a leg amputated after an incident involving Intergang, and now you're looking to piss off the Joker. I'll admit, I may be just a little impressed. Now tell me, you know who I am?" the woman purred. Kelly felt numb all of a sudden. She heard a vent crash in behind her, and felt a pair of gloved hands grab her tightly by the shoulders. "I'm the girl who's right behind you."

**Nightwing P.O.V.**

Nightwing had arrived at the Gotham Clock Tower at midnight. Ordinarily, he would have returned to Bludhaven, but the increased presence of the TYGER mercenaries at his adopted hometown had made moving around more complicated. Though the Mayor Sharp insisted that TYGER would leave after neutralizing the Joker sympathizers in Bludhaven, they had maintained their presence in the city long after the last firefight. Although he hated to leave, it did give him an excuse to go back home to the family. One member in particular.

Barbara Gordon was one of Nightwing's oldest and closest friends. They had started out their "superhero careers" roughly the same time together. Some of his favorite memories involved the downtime they spent together in between missions. Training, playing, trying futilely to prank Alfred, it was the best childhood he could have asked for. Even after that animal put a bullet in her spine, Barbara made herself even more valuable, becoming the single greatest hacker in the world, as far as Nightwing was concerned.

After climbing the stairs up, he looked upon the Oracles nest. There had to be at least a dozen monitors surveying who knows how much data. The woman herself was sitting in front of the largest one, sipping a mug of hot cocoa. "You're late, Dick. That doesn't usually happen," she said, offhandedly. She was browsing through some files, apparently they were Interpol dossiers. "Eh, I had to stop by the manor for a bit, say hi to Bruce, bust on Tim for a bit," said Nightwing. The newest rookie member of the Batfamily was a welcome addition, though he was still a little wet behind the ears, as far as Dick was concerned. "Leave the poor kid be, he has a better head on his shoulders then some people I could mention," Barbara smirked. "Oh, really?" Dick laughed. If nothing else, Dick thought, at least they could still be best friends.

"So, I did that favor you asked for, and kept an eye on any transactions in the city that seemed to head anywhere suspicious. I also cross-referenced it with any irregular movement from any of the international hired guns on the network." Barbara explained. "Knew I could count on you, Babs. You find anything that could come bite us?" Barbara looked back at the monitor, clicking through some of the files. "Well, I have tracked some payments down to Kaznia. You know, the place that's been fighting a civil war for the last thirty years. Well, after the payments went through, two reasonably high-profile guns-for-hire broke their contracts and made a b-line to the states." Barbara punctuated the statement by pulling up two dossiers. One was an average-sized, slim Hispanic man, bedraggled yet looked like he possessed some kind of vicious cunning behind his eyes. The other was a large Russian man, apparently six and a half feet tall, with a nearly shaven head and dead eyes. Neither looked like upstanding citizens, to say the least.

"The first man is named Guillermo Barrera, an ex-national from Hasaragua. Top level interrogator and torturer, he's wanted by Interpol for questioning regarding the disappearance of multiple politicians, activists, and doctors. Goes by the moniker "Brutale." The other individual is named Anatoli Knyazev. Ex-Russian Mafiya. Lost an arm a few years back, but is usually seen with some kind of prosthetic assault rifle. Goes by the moniker, and I kid you not, "KGBeast." Nightwing mulled over what Barbara told him. "These seem like reasonably savvy individuals. Wouldn't they be worried about the Joker's reputation for bouncing checks?" "Maybe, but considering the crapshoot the Kaznian civil war is turning out to be, they're probably just happy for a change of scenery." Nightwing nodded, then turned to leave. "Thanks for the intel, Babs. I'll keep my eyes peeled." "Oh, you sure you aren't distracted by the perky young twenty-something?" Barbara goaded. Nightwing winced, lamenting how much his reputation preceded him. "Relax, Barb, trust me. It's just professional protection. I'll be watching her like a hawk."

**Don't be afraid to leave feedback!**


	9. Chapter 8: Friends with Benefits

**Do I write like Bob Kane, Grant Morrison, Gail Simone, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Frank Miller, etc? No? Then I'm not any of those people (At least, I hope I'm not like Miller. Modern Miller, anyway. Year One was pretty awesome, and DKR's a landmark, and… sorry, off topic) Anyways, disclaimer over.**

Chapter 8: Friends with Benefits

**Kelly P.O.V.**

"Wake up, Kelly. Kitty wants to play." The last thing Kelly remembered was being jumped by a recent acquaintance. Then, she hazily remembered something about Nightwing riding a horse into battle against a giant monstrous cat-beast, before finally slaying the creature in combat. He then promptly picked up Kelly, the fair maiden, and carried her to a picturesque meadow where they proceeded to recite poetry for what seemed like hours, before Kelly turned around, and dropped her dress to her ankles. Then a monsoon occurred, and Kelly woke up to find her new nemesis pouring water on her face.

Immediately, the hand of her nemesis shot out to cover her mouth, again repeating their introduction a little over a week ago. "Hey babe, sorry if I startled you so much. Nervous breakdowns are never pretty, and carrying you the rest of the way here was not fun. Seriously, a little cardio every now and then goes a long way," she said as she rubbed Kelly's stomach. Kelly took a second to process her surroundings. She was in Vicki's apartment, and she was lying on the couch by the wall mounted TV. There was still light outside, so she couldn't have been out for more then a few minutes. Finally, before she could stop herself, she lunged at her captor.

For three glorious seconds, Kelly made due with the element of surprise, wrapping her hands around her captors neck, throwing her entire body weight into tackling her to the ground. Once on top of her, she pulled back her arm, and readied to slam a fist onto the other woman's face. One thing that didn't go through Kelly's mind, however, was that this woman had made a career out of fighting world-class security teams, while Kelly, on the other hand, had just played volleyball for fun during college. So it was really no surprise that Kelly found herself on her chest in an arm lock before she realized what happened. The tension in her arm felt like it was only an ounce away from snapping in half.

The other woman hesitated, and then released her quarry. "Alright, considering that this is the second time this month this something like this has happened you, I'll just say that this was my bad." The woman stood up, than held out a hand to Kelly. Glaring at the woman, Kelly helped herself up, than sat herself on the couch. "What… the hell… do you want?" The other woman pouted, sitting on an ottoman stool across from Kelly. "Honestly, I don't see what the problem was with the old situation? You stayed in the apartment, I crashed whenever you weren't there, or were sleeping, or watching stuff on your computer, or…" she paused at the dawning look of horror on Kelly's face. "Anyway, I came here originally to rip you a new one over fixing the bars on the windows before leaving the place altogether, but after spending some time here, I think we can work out an arrange..." "No."

The other woman seemed taken aback by the abrupt rudeness of her new companion, but Kelly continued to glare into her, as if hoping she'd burst the other woman into flames with her anger. "Listen, you stalker creep; this isn't my place, I don't like you, and I want nothing to do with you. So, if it's all the same to you, will you please GET OUT!" The other woman looked at her, then had the faintest of smiles creep on her face. She leaned in closely, until their noses almost touched. Kelly lost her nerve, averting her eyes from the woman across from her. "Make. Me." the woman whispered in her ear. She couldn't. She couldn't protect herself from this woman, she couldn't protect herself from those thugs, and even before setting foot in Gotham, she couldn't even protect those she loved from getting hurt.

"Then ask yourself this; if you can't stop me, what's going to happen to you if your police escort falls apart, and those do-gooders in capes can't get to you in time? You are playing in a game that is so far out of your league; do you even think that the slightest screw-up is forgivable? Kelly, I'm the scariest person you've ever met, and I'm not even half the worst this city has to offer. But, that doesn't mean I can't help you. So when I make you an offer, you might want to listen," the woman purred into her ear. She then clasped her hand around Kelly's jaw, turning it to face her, waiting until Kelly finally made eye contact before she continued. "I need another place to stay for a few months. No one will think to look for me here. You will allow me to stay here for the time being, and this arrangement will be kept between the two of us. Vicki will never know. In exchange, I can provide you some protection from the rest of the criminal underworld, but this protection will only last until you leave Gotham, or until you tell anyone about me. Do I make myself clear?" Kelly nodded. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. Say, "Yes, Catwoman, I agree completely," then I will believe you."

Kelly looked up at the other…no… at Catwoman, and after she found her tongue, repeated it. Catwoman stared at her for a while, then smiled, then ruffled Kelly's hair. "Now, that wasn't too traumatic, now was it? I'm afraid I have to leave, but it really was a nice chat we had. Your boss should be up at any minute now, so I'll keep this goodbye short." Catwoman then leaped off the ottoman, made a dash for the balcony, than leaped off. For a brief moment, Kelly hoped that maybe her problem had been solved by that bizarre impulsive decision, but then she realized that Catwoman had to have been doing this stuff for years, and she would probably be seeing her again before long. After what seemed like an eternity, Kelly got up from the couch, put some bread in the toaster, poured a glass of orange juice, and knocked on the bedroom door of her boss.

Vicki opened the door, wearing a bathroom and cleaning her hair with a towel. She was about to thank her assistant when she took a single look at her. "Kelly, is everything alright? You look, well, terrible." Kelly lied to her boss, saying she just felt a little under the weather, and just needed to lie down for a little while. Vicki volunteered her bed for the night, and offered to call a doctor. Kelly accepted the first offer, declined the second, and said goodnight to her boss, before closing the bedroom door and crashing face first into the bed. All she wanted to focus on was waking up for tomorrow, and did her best to ignore the fact that the pillow was getting moist.

**Silva P.O.V.**

_"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?! I DARE YOU, SAY IT TO MY FACE!" In all the years Hector had known Ron, he had come to recognize his colleague as a mature, calm, even-tempered individual, who had limits, as all people did. Among those limits were bringing up his absent father, his junkie sister, and his daughter. Unfortunately for Anglo Ricci, he had managed to steadily hit all of them in the months following the trio's inauguration into the organization. Anglo was Italian through and through, and could barely tolerate Ron's… type. Roman had personally told Anglo to get over himself, or Ron would replace him before he knew it, so Anglo had taken to trying to incite Ron to throw the first punch. Usually, he was able to brush off anything Anglo threw at him, but after making a crack about his daughter possibly having a junkie for a mother, Ron, and Hector for that matter, had had enough._

_ Two large bruisers, however, flanked Anglo. Apparently they were his personal flunkies who happened to look like twins. Anglo, himself, was no slouch in the physicality department, as Hector had seen him lift taller men off the ground, so a good portion of that girth had to be muscle. It was the twins that concerned him, however. He had seen them in action against several Bertinelli holdouts, and they had never so much as been knocked down in a brawl. They were both huge bastards, easily six and a half feet tall, and worked as a team. "Come on, you two lovebirds are supposed to be boxers, right? You don't think you can take us, can you?" Anglo goaded them. The shipping department had grinded to a halt during the altercation between Ron and Anglo, as everyone was waiting for these two to finally fight it out. Hector himself was wondering how people were betting, if only as to figure whether or not he should be offended._

_ A shrill whistle broke the tension. Everyone in the docks turned to see where the noise was coming from, and a woman's voice spoke out. "And just what the hell do you idiots think you are doing?" Everyone turned to the office stairway, looking at a tall, blonde woman, wearing a white dress under her grey coat. The men recognized her on sight as Roman Sionis's main squeeze, Tiffany Ambrose. She was frequently sighted around the premises, and spent most of her time in Roman's office. This was the first time most of the men heard her speak. She cut through the crowd, placing herself between the two hostile groups. She looked all of them up and down, and then looked towards Ron. "You seem to be outnumbered. Don't you guys have a friend down in the labs?" Ron stalled for a bit. Charlie? In a brawl? Silva stepped forward, "Listen, Miss Ambrose, I think we can…" She wheeled on Hector. "Was I talking to you?" she spat at him, glaring at him venomously. Hector took a step back, ignoring the sniggering around him. Ron finally found his voice. "Hey, he's down in the labs, but I don't think…" Tiffany took that moment to put her index finger and thumb together, before dragging it across her lips; the universal symbol for shut your trap. She then walked over to the intercom, calling up Charlie from the bowels of the steel mill._

_ For three whole minutes, nothing was happening. Tiffany looked over at the five men waiting. "Well?" she asked. The five soon to be brawlers glanced towards their partners. "If you're going to fight, do you really want to be caught in you're work clothes?" Silva and Ron acquiesced to the suggestion first, placing their jackets and shirts on the handle of a hand trolley. The twins responded accordingly, placing their jackets on a beam that helped support the office. As the elevator neared its destination, Anglo finally relented and took off his jacket. Silva had been taking it as an opportunity to size up his opponents. The twins were obviously heavyweights, in his estimation, and could obviously hold their own in a fight. Anglo himself wasn't nearly as pudgy as Hector thought either, and with his stature, Silva estimated that he was at least a cruiserweight. Well, their enemies obviously had the weight advantage on their side, but hopefully, he and Ron had experience._

_ The elevator finally reached the top, and revealed a scrawny man with in a HAZMAT suit. He glanced around before taking his mask off. "You Charlie Mitchell?" asked Tiffany. He nodded towards her, trying to figure out what was going on. "Your friends are about to start a fight. If you want to help them, then you get out of that thing and brawl." Charlie started to stutter, trying decide whether she should call himself a lover not a fighter, or jump right back into the elevator to rejoin his precious hazardous chemicals. "I… uh… I'm not… wearing…" "Are you at least wearing underwear?" He sheepishly nodded. "Well then, strip down and get with your team. We don't have all night."_

Hector woke up, face buried in his pizza box/makeshift pillow. The pie was long gone, and he was too tired to ask for a cup of water. Officers Jones and Miller were standing guard, and they weren't nearly as much fun as Allen or Montoya. It had to be, what, three in the morning, and he didn't feel like watching infomercials until the morning show. He desperately needed a gym, an easel, a game console, a porn mag, an encyclopedia, something to keep the boredom away. At least Blackgate gave him someone to talk to, or to work out on, depending on how the talking went. He was about to settle back down when he heard the door creak open. Looking up, he saw Bullock motioning to his two sentries to beat it.

"Well, Bullock, you're out late. No curfew from Gordon?" Hector had to shoot out. "I'm not even in the mood to pretend to put up with your crap," Bullock yawned. "Get your ass up, we're leaving." Hector took a moment to think. What could have happened now? "Joker finally find where I am?" asked Hector. "No idea, all I know is there's gonna be bounty hunters after your and Kelly's heads coming before long." Bounty hunters? Silva took a moment to ponder whether they'd been hired anonymously. The only reliable thing about Joker was his unreliability, and he would sooner gas the hired help then pay up, though the latter wasn't unheard of. On the other hand, if these guys knew whom the Joker was and were still coming, well, that opened up an entire new realm of horrifying possibilities. "You think the sewers have been compromised?" asked Silva, trying to hide the worry from his voice. "Not yet, but I ain't waiting around for that to happen." The four men walked out of the sewers, with Jones bringing up the squad car.

Before all the men piled in, Bullock unlocked the trunk of the car. "You're kidding, right?" Silva questioned as he looked over the officers. "You know how the golden rule goes, right? Do unto others, and so forth? Point is, get in," Bullock ordered. He could tell that Jones and Miller were doing their best not to laugh. Groaning, he lifted himself into the trunk, and heard the door slam on top of him. He was certainly not going to enjoy the ride.

**Kelly P.O.V.**

Kelly woke up with her face still planted in the tear-stained pillow. She sat herself up and looked at the clock. Four in the morning. Vicki wouldn't be home for another four hours. She looked around the room to see if there was anyone else sharing it with her. None that she could still see. It was then that she had realized that she had fallen asleep with her clothes on. Well, it was safe for her to take a shower, right? Kelly then spent a considerable amount of time mulling over what should have been a rhetorical question. Eventually, she opted to take one, though Kelly continuously looking over her shoulder during it nullified what should have been a relaxing activity. She put on another of Vicki's bathrobes, than went back to the living area. She didn't really feel like falling asleep, again.

It was drizzling outside, the rain taping against the glass of the balcony, indicating that nobody had made an entry since Catwoman left. She pondered whether or not she should brew up some coffee and get an early start scheduling Vicki's appointments for the week. No, Vicki told her that she preferred to know her work was getting done while she was asleep. Something to do with wanting to replicate Batman's work ethic, or something. She plopped herself on the couch, trying to find something to anchor her to sanity. In a few short months, she had gone from fearing Gotham City to hating it, despising every rotten brick, and nearly every cursed soul stupid enough to call this place home.

She wanted to go back home to Keystone, or Blue Valley, or even Metropolis, despite the heartache that waited for her back there. She wanted nothing more then to look out the window and see the entire city gone. She wanted to finally bury the hatchet with her dad, and say she was sorry for all those stupid fights before she left. She wanted Kenny to call back, and tell her he was going to be OK. She wanted that cat-lady to have her heart ripped from her chest. But most of all, she wanted her peace of mind back. She brought her knees up to her chin. Coast City. Yes. That would be a great place to settle down. She had an old college friend who was living there; maybe she could stay after this Silva bull was taken care of. She smiled, reveling in her exit strategy, when she heard a knock on her door.

This was the last thing Kelly wanted or needed, so she pretended not to notice. Room service can buzz off, as far as she was concerned. Wait, what was room service doing up at 4:30 AM? A cold dread flooded over her, and Kelly almost bolted to her room and locked the door behind her when a familiar voice asked for her by name. "Kelly, I need to talk to you. It's important." That voice, she had heard it so briefly, so there was no way it could be… but what else could it be? Kelly approached the door and unbolted the lock, opening the door to reveal the only person in Gotham she had grown to… admire. Nightwing himself.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but…" "Uh, no, it's alright, I was up anyway. Please, come in," Kelly finished, hurriedly. After Nightwing entered, Kelly realized that she was practically naked under the robe. Maybe she should throw something on, she asked herself. Or maybe, thought a part of her she hadn't listened to since college, it was perfect. After all, the man saved her from certain death, and it would do wonders to relieve all the stress and tension she had to deal with for today, and he was hot, and it had been so long since… Snap out of it, Kelly, you are above that, she scolded herself. Besides, you have no idea what his name is, or even if he's single, she continued to berate herself. "Uh, Ms. Andrews," Nightwing interrupted, breaking her train of thought. Kelly shook her head, wondering how long she had been standing by the door. She closed it, than joined Nightwing on the couch.

"I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time, but I really needed to talk to you as soon as I could," Nightwing started to say, his tone firm but so very warm. Kelly found herself fighting to resist putting her head on his shoulder and letting his voice wash over her. "My friends and I are concerned for your safety, and I'm sorry I couldn't be their sooner to prevent you from being attacked." "Oh, you don't have to apologize, you were incredible!" Kelly declared, louder then she expected. Get a grip, her rational side growled, he's trying to help you, not date you. "Thanks, but I really should have been more focused on your protection than rounding up the cells. Which reminds me, you just got done talking with Silva this afternoon, right? Did he tell you anything new?" Kelly had remembered talking about training facilities, as well as Silva mentioning a bunch of recruiters by name. She grabbed her notebook from her coatpocket, and spent the next hour going over the specifics with Nightwing.

They must have talked for the better part of an hour, going over the recruiters, both suspected and confirmed, as well as narrowing down any potential holdouts still in the city. The Joker was usually very mobile, and never stayed in a particular hideout for too long. Since it was confirmed that the steel mill was going to be inside the walls, they both figured that the Joker planned to retake it once he set foot in Arkham City. Only if he was able to make it that far, of course.

Over the course of the conversation, she found herself more enthralled with the junior vigilante. From what she had heard of the Gotham vigilantes, she had pictured them all to be brooding misanthropes with daddy issues, or whatever went on in their heads. At least, that was the impression that she got from the head honcho. But Nightwing was different. He was charming, considerate, polite, and even had a sense of humor. Sure enough, business soon delved into gossip. "So what's Vicki having you do to keep you around?" he said, looking around. "Honestly, I don't have any idea how she got this herself," she answered honestly. "She said something about a bet, but I think she was just joking," she continued. "Nah, that's the truth, I hear she made a bet with Bruce Wayne, and this was the consolation prize," Nightwing said, taking a sip of coffee. "Alright, so tell me, what was she trying to win?" Kelly asked. Nightwing smirked at her. "Does the name Mrs. Victoria Wayne have a ring to it?"

Kelly couldn't help herself, and for the first time in months, she burst out laughing. How could she have kept this a secret! "No way, how would you know?" she breathed after the fit passed. "I…uh… his butler loves to gossip. Yeah," he said, sheepishly. He looked out to the balcony, seeing the sun start to peek past the skyline. "Oh, hey, I gotta leave. Hey, I almost forgot to mention; I'll be monitoring you personally. For, you know, security reasons, not because I'm some creep." Kelly was dead silent, before venturing to ask, "Why, is there something wrong?" Internally, she had her fingers crossed, if there was any chance he knew, she could sleep so much more soundly. "Well, we have reason to believe that some of Joker's allies may have hired some extra muscle, and we assume it's to go after you and Silva, but I promise, I… we will be watching both of you closely." Kelly was noticeably disheartened by the news, which surprised Nightwing.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Listen, I now it's scary, but you're really being brave, and you are really doing the city a huge favor through all your hard work. There's going to be a lot of people here in your debt. Tell you what, if there's anything you want, I'll work to give it to you." Kelly looked into his eyes. The rational side of her told her to just thank him, to just say good morning and go their separate ways, or if she found the courage, tell him about Catwoman. The impulsive side of her, however, refused to be denied. Silencing her rational side, she closed the gap between them, and kissed the vigilante deeply.

**Silva P.O.V.**

_Silva's fist connected sharply with the jaw of twin #1, his bare knuckle digging into the other mans face. The man faltered, stumbling back until his back was against the warehouse wall. Silva rammed into him, throwing shots into the larger mans sides. He was a tough son of a bitch to take down, Silva would give the man that, but no one could take the bare-knuckle onslaught like that and still move around. After a solid minute of pounding, the #1 finally buckled down, cradling his sides. He looked back towards seeing how his two partners were handling themselves. Ron was currently dueling it out with Anglo, expertly keeping his distance as he plugged shot after shot into the greaseballs face. Charlie had the misfortune of dealing with #2, but the much smaller skivvy-clad man was doing a commendable job dodging and avoiding the twin. It was clear, however, which of the two men was getting more tired._

_Silva whistled over to #2, distracting him from Charlie. Hector slowly advanced, slowly weaving and twisting his body like a metronome. A boxer would have realized what he was trying to do, but it had become apparent that the twins were no refined fighters. The twin had spent so much time trying to follow his movements he didn't realize the hooks were coming until it was far too late. Hook after hook slammed into his face, until the bigger man finally caved in and joined his brother on the ground. Anglo had just kneed Ron in the stomach, only to find that his two flunkies were both out of the game, and it was just him against three._

_"Anglo, you surrender?" Tiffany asked coyly. The hearty, proud Italian sneered at the trio, then resignedly threw up his hands in defeat. A smattering of cheers and groans erupted throughout the loading dock. Money exchanged hands, compliments and boos rained down on the victors. Hector suffered a nasty cut just above his left eye, while Ron's lower lip was swelling pretty badly. Charlie, despite offering up no offence whatsoever, was panting pretty heavily. Hector scanned the room, before his eyes settled on Tiffany. She was looking at him with… what was it… pride? Smugness? Hunger?_

_"JUST WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" All eyes diverted towards the top of the office. Roman Sionis was poking his head out of the window, an absolutely livid look on his face. "YOU, YOU, AND YOU, IN MY OFFICE NOW!" he screamed at the trio. Anglo was helping one of the twins up, and couldn't hide back his smirk. Ron glared at him, and he promptly diverted his gaze. The trio, followed by Tiffany, climbed up the stairs to the office. Once up there, Roman's bouncer promptly slammed the door._

_Roman was fiddling with a video camera, ejecting a tape. He held it up in front of the three. "You mind telling me why you held up the entire loading operation just so you could settle some petty grievance?" He glared over all of them, as if daring any of them to make an excuse. He pointed at Ron and Hector. "You two realize that if it wasn't for Ms. Ambrose over there vouching for you, neither of you would have made it past the door." He then looked over at poor half-naked Charlie "and I have no idea how you learned the password in the first place." He leaned back in his chair. "From this point forward, you three idiots are my primary enforcers." The trio looked at each other, surprised by this recent development. Roman smirked, and Tiffany could barely suppress a giggle._

_"Anglo's a pretty tough customer, but he's no Crippler. You three showing him and those idiot nephews of his have basically done me a solid. You three are untouchable, and nobody in this organization is going to want to take you guys on, hence your new promotion." Roman leaned in. "This also means I'm going to ask a lot more of you than the other guys. Clandestine stuff, mostly. Can you keep things "on the level," if you get my drift," he asked. Charlie spoke up first. "Wait, you think I'm any good in a fight?" Roman looked over at him. "Kid, I can't take you seriously until you put on some pants. Furthermore, you will just be the go-between between me and the other two. Unless you're interested in fieldwork?" He leaned back in his seat. "We can iron out the details later, but for now, put your shirts back on and get back to work." Tiffany moaned in disappointment, only to be silenced by a glare from Roman._

"Wakey-wakey, sunshine, it's morning. Welcome to you're new pad," Bullock barked. Hector woke up, padding his leg until it woke back up. He peeked his head out of the squad car trunk, and glanced around. It was morning. There was a lot more greenery then he was used to seeing, and a lot more hedges. As he crawled out of the car, he glanced up towards the wall, reading the engraved sign up front. _Wayne Manor_. Silva started to snigger. "No freaking way. You're not telling me that…" "I don't make the decisions, I just follow the orders. Now go introduce yourself to the butler, he'll have a room ready for you," Bullock spat, clearly as unhappy at the development as Silva was ecstatic. Silva grew the biggest banana grin his face could muster. At long last, he finally found his castle.

**Got Feedback?**


	10. Chapter 9: Impulses

**Believe me, if I ran DC, I would just try to alleviate the whole "Dark n' Gritty" phase the editors seem to be so in love with nowadays. I mean, as much as I like Nolan-type stuff, the constant repetition of that makes it every bit as overbearing as making it too campy. Where was I? Oh yeah, disclaimer.**

**P.S. I also don't own Hot Pockets**tm**… yeah.**

Chapter 9: Impulses

**Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean**

The last of the casings fell to the floor of the cargo hold. Anatoli dislodged the magazine from the bottom of his artificial forearm, tossing it aside while he reloaded another into the weapon. Surveying the room, he counted six dead Kaznians, with one barely clinging to life. Anatoli sniffed. These death squads favored themselves to be on par with the very best of the elite military units those Hollywood movies loved to portray. In practice, the moment their prey started to shoot back, their bravado dissipated quickly enough. Ten-to-one odds, at that, and still they still folded against the two of them.

He sauntered up to the surviving member of the hit squad. The man was fumbling with a side arm, a task made more difficult due to the bullet wound in the arm above the holster. A quick kick from Anatoli sent the weapon flying across the room. The man couldn't be older then twenty, and glared at him in a vain effort to hide his fear. Patriots, Anatoli thought to himself disdainfully. If your own countrymen thought so highly of your services, why did top dollar go to KGBeast? "Kaznia has no use for traitors!" the young man yelled defiantly. "Da, as much as I have no use for Kaznia," KGBeast dispassionately replied, bringing up the heel of his boot.

Anatoli soon left the cargo area, navigating through the passageways of the ship, lamenting the lack of mats on the ship. He didn't miss Kaznia nearly as much as he thought he would. Working for the royal family was one of the more pleasant jobs he had the privilege of taking after he left the Mafiya. That parting also came with its share of bodies, come to think of it. Still, the civil war was winding down to a stalemate, and until the next coup, there was little more work for him there anymore. When the call came to go to the U.S, he responded without hesitation. There was still the matter of his contract, but twenty dead men should send his former employers the message.

As he rounded the corner, he saw another member of the squad, this one with a knife sticking out of the back of his head. He chuckled to himself. He thought himself to be a dangerous man, but this one, the one called Brutale, was on another level entirely. Who would have thought a man wielding only knives could be so lethal, nowadays? As he looked up the corridor, he saw a few other bodies scattered further down the hall. From the looks of things, they didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. He heard a sharp, pained scream somewhere above him. Anatoli was about to climb the stairs to investigate when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He brought his rifle to bear when the other man held his hands in the air. "Easy, Ruskie, it's just me." Anatoli allowed his "arm" to drop. The captain of the boat started to relax, then spoke again. "Thanks for getting rid of those Kaznians. The two of you some kinda team?"

Anatoli snorted. Hardly. As muddy as the war had been, Anatoli sided with the loyalists, while Brutale frequently worked for the rebels. Had they meet just a month earlier; they would have gladly killed one another. It was merely chance that the two of them were on the same boat, going to the same job, with the same enemies chasing them. "Where is the rest of your crew, kapitan?" he asked, pointedly. The man, some limey smuggler his old contacts at the Mafiya hooked him up to, explained that the rest of his men were in hiding after the Kaznians boarded them, and that they would immediately restart the engines. Anatoli simply responded that they would need to bring mops as he continued to climb the stairs to find his new "teammate."

Sure enough, Guillermo Barrera had taken the last surviving member of the squad alive, and was promptly making him wish he hadn't. "O.K, now for something different, I pop out your left knee this time," said Guillermo, readying another knife. The man, a sergeant named Ilya, was still shaking from his right knee being ruined by the wiry mercenary sitting across from him. He heard the horror stories soon after the man set foot in his country, but he never believed any of them, personally. A man that evil would have been killed after his government fell, right? His thoughts distorted when the man sank another knife into his shin. "Aw, cheer up, amigo, we're almost at the halfway point. I didn't even start on the upper-body yet!" Barrera sniggered. The door suddenly opened, and the front half of an assault rifle peeked in, firing a single round into the head of the captive. Barrera was caught off guard by the sudden explosion, and then he turned in to the intruder in a rage.

"I WAS ALMOST DONE!" he screamed at Anatoli, who simply curled his lip in disgust. As much as he respected Brutale professionally, personally he found the man to be very… distasteful. Anatoli had been raised to understand the value of cruelty, viewing it as a tool of necessity. When you learned to enjoy it, as Brutale had, your value to your employers would eventually be called into question. However, considering what they had heard of their new employer, maybe that was what he was looking for. "A seaplane will be arriving in a few hours. If the Kaznians were able to find us this quickly, they will probably send a follow up crew to destroy the ship, outright." Barrera calmed down a little. "Another gift from your friends back home?" he asked. "Simply a few more favors I've called in. If you are smart, you will accept my offer and not tell the crew anything." In three hours, the seaplane landed next to the freighter, picking up the two mercenaries before taking off. An hour later, after receiving no word from the boarding party, Kaznian attack helicopters surrounded, crippled, and sank the vessel, leaving no discernable survivors.

**Nightwing P.O.V.**

Nightwing had finally stumbled to the elevator, panting over the experience. In hindsight, he really shouldn't have been caught by surprise, he did save her life, after all, but more then that, she was also probably very stressed and very lonely. Still, incidents like this had rarely happened in his superhero career. Maybe it was because Bludhaven wasn't exactly "kissy-town," or maybe he didn't have the damsel rescuing reputation Bruce had acquired, or maybe he had crossed the professional line into friendly territory and sent the wrong message. Again. Regardless, it was almost morning, and it was soon time for him to hit the sack. Hopefully Alfred kept his room in good condition; otherwise he'd have to room at Barb's place again.

Speaking of, he figured he'd call in to see if she had heard anything new. "Hey, uh, Barb, got anything on those new assassins we were, you know, following?" There was nothing but static coming from his wrists. "Barbara, you there?" Finally, the voice on the other hand spoke up. "Oh, I'm sorry, I figured I would be calling you at a bad time," Oracle replied, sarcasm dripping from the speaker. Nightwing checked the time, and then winced. Six in the morning. Yeah, there was no way he could play this off smoothly. "Alright, I know what you are thinking, but that didn't happen. We just talked. A bit more then I should have, but it was just talking. Mostly about the case." He could practically see Oracle raising her eyebrow on the other end of the line. "Mostly?" "O.K, I let time get away from me and we started to gossip. I mean, she's really sweet, and seemed kind of stressed, so I figured I could…" "Comfort her?" asked Oracle coyly.

Nightwing rubbed the bridge of his nose. You aren't keeping your dignity today, so you may as well come clean, he told himself. "Fine, we kissed. To be accurate, she kissed me. I should have told her to stop, but I didn't, and I admit, a part of me didn't want to. But you have my word that I'm ending it now." There was a dead silence over the communicator. "Alright, whatever, just get back to the clock tower so we can go over the new info," Oracle responded. Nightwing gave an affirmative, and then snapped his communicator shut. Meanwhile, at the clock tower, Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed, and then went back to work.

**Kelly P.O.V.**

You have no business being proud of yourself, her rational side screamed at her. Yet there she was, on the couch, with a huge grin on her face. She sprawled back, leaning her head behind the couch, when she saw it. The Jacuzzi! She almost unconsciously stripped off the robe as she practically leaped over to the device. She settled into the pool as she altered the temperature to her liking. Before, she had been too shy to use Vicki's Jacuzzi, partly out of politeness and partly because she was nervous on how it overlooked the city. Now, she felt like she could take the world, if she wanted to. She hadn't just wanted to kiss Nightwing, she_ needed _to kiss Nightwing.

As the temperature warmed up, she fondly reminisced over her action. When she leaned in to kiss him, had her lips touch his, everything just went right. Initially he seemed surprised, but when the shock wore off, he brought his hand behind her back. Kelly took the opportunity to press her body against him. Sadly, however, something seemed to click in his mind, and he gently but firmly pushed her shoulders off of him. He apologized profusely, then mentioned that he had to go. She groaned in disappointment. She also lamented the fact that he was wearing some kind of tactical… onesie?

As she spent her soaking pondering how to defeat the costume in the event of their next encounter, she heard Vicki enter her apartment. "Well, you seem to be feeling better, not to mention making yourself at home." Caught off guard, Kelly promptly stood up to greet her boss, then promptly ducked back into the pool after re-recognizing her state, blushing heavily. Vicki laughed. "And here I was thinking I was the only one who vegges like that." She walked over to her bathing protégé, than tossed the bathrobe she had discarded closer. "When you get dried off, I was thinking we could head out for a bit," Vicki said. Kelly pulled her robe back on, than asked, "What, like some girl's morning out?" Vicki shrugged. "You've been cooped up here so long, I just felt like I doing something nice for someone working so hard."

Kelly eyed her suspiciously. Vicki noticed this, than sighed. "Alright, you got me. I'm planning on taking you to a party at Wayne manor at the end of the week, and I'm hoping to make you a little more…presentable." Kelly wrinkled her nose. What was wrong with the way she dressed? Sure, it was mostly bargain-bin fashion, and she didn't really go out of her way to get dolled up since graduating. "It's black tie, so we're going to one of the higher end boutiques downtown. Don't panic, it'll be my treat. You know your measurements?" "My…what?" For her entire life, Kelly had been a fairly conservative dresser. Blouses and dress pants when she was working, T-shirts and jeans for everyday wear. Vicki caught her confusion, then dismissed it, claiming that they could take care of it at the store. "In the mean time, I think I'll be staying awake just a little while longer, so while you get dressed, I'll fix myself some coffee."

**Silva P.O.V.**

"Yo, Jeeves!" Silva hollered. Here he was, stuck in this broom closet of a room, and he was getting hungry. If Kelly could get him a pizza, then the old geezer at least had enough heart to get him a three-course meal, right? He stretched his frame across the bed. Feather pillows, he thought. He hadn't been around these since… he shook the thought from his mind. At first he figured Bullock was pulling a prank, but in retrospect, this was a brilliant hiding spot. Nobody in the gang would even think to look for him here, he smugly thought to himself. Hell, he could even stay here indefinitely; the only problem being that room service was taking forever. The moment he had been escorted to the manor, he had promptly been taken to a new "cell." "Jeeves, I'm hungry," he kept hollering. He looked around the room. Some kid must have stayed here, from the looks of it. There were a bunch of posters around, one of them from that "Flying Graysons" act a while ago.

Wait a minute, he thought to himself. What was keeping those posters up, anyway? He looked up from the pillow, inspecting the poster. Scotch tape, damn. He propped himself up against the head of the bed, tapping against the poster, unsure of what he was trying to look for. Eventually, he felt an anomaly under the poster. Slipping his hand under the poster, he felt what could only be a staple. An evil grin crept slowly onto Silva's face.

The door opened, and a kid that could barely be out of high school poked his head in. "Do you mind shutting up? Bruce is trying to sleep." Silva scowled at the brat. Probably one of Wayne's bastard kids, for all he could care. Squirt went by the name "Tim," or something. "Do you mind telling Kato that I'm hungry?" he retorted. The kid rolled his eyes, and promptly threw a Hot Pocket at his forehead. "Bon-appétit, you ape," he smirked. Silva thanked him by extending his traffic advisory finger, to which the kid answered by slamming the door. As he munched down on the microwavable, he went back to thinking about when would be the best time to go on a little adventure…

**Kelly P.O.V.**

"You look great, Kelly. You should wear this color more often," Vicki complimented. Kelly looked at her friend, then back to the full-length mirror. She was wearing a full-length black satin gown, one that showed off a fair amount of cleavage and completely exposed her back. Kelly never enjoyed flaunting her body, particularly around people she barely knew. It wasn't because she was necessarily a prude, but mostly because she had decided that if anyone was going to picture her naked, they would have to really use their imaginations. "Well, what do you think?" Vicki asked. Kelly bit her lip, before asking "Don't you think I'm showing off too much of my chest?" Vicki seemed unconcerned. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's a charity event, not an escort service." Vicki walked around her, inspecting her like some kind of drill sergeant. "Though, I wouldn't be surprised if you went home with someone," she added, smiling evilly.

Kelly groaned. Black tie to her meant fifty or older. Who did she think she was going to go home with? Wayne? Didn't he prefer older women? Wait… She turned to Vicki and returned the smile. "And let me guess, you're still trying to get with Gotham's most eligible bachelor?" Vicki's smile vanished. "I should have known you'd figure that out eventually." Kelly shrugged. "Not entirely, I still don't know what the bet was." Vicki sighed. "When Bruce Wayne vanished off the radar for a few years, I'd found no one who could tell me where he was. When he finally came back, I got the same response. Even after we started dating, he revealed absolutely nothing. So eventually, one day I confronted him and made him an offer. I find out where he had been, and I get the playboy to settle down." Vicki leaned against the wall, brow furrowed in frustration. "Over an entire year, I had to sift though rumors, conspiracy theories, and some petty speculation. One rumor said he was at Nepal, another rumor said he was in North Korea, another rumor said with some guy named Dragon in Japan and another rumor said he was in Europe with a man named Ducard. But eventually, the only solid lead I found was that he was at a super exclusive university somewhere near the Alps, and even then, nothing was confirmable."

Kelly had never seen Vicki this aggravated. She knew she was an extremely competitive woman, but she seemed to take her lack of success in this manner personally. "Wow, you really must have wanted to get hitched to him, badly?" Vicki sighed. "Looking back, I think I can admit that I was basically chasing a white whale. I just wanted it so badly, I didn't even think about what would've happened after I "won." Truth be told, I don't even think I liked him that much. Way to smug, in my opinion." She looked up for a second, before adding, "don't tell him I said that." Eventually, the women agreed on the dress, and left the boutique. On the drive back, Kelly dwelled on how Vicki called Wayne her "white whale," and began to think that they weren't so different. One last question, though. "So, how'd the break-up go?" Vicki shrugged. "It was… dramatic, but we… reconciled our differences… in the Jacuzzi."

**Nightwing P.O.V.**

"297…298…299…300" and with that, Dick Grayson finally collapsed in a heap. Three hundred pushups, pull-ups, sit-ups, reverse-pushups, and squats. Typical evening regimen. After resting for five seconds, he sat himself up, grabbing his water bottle and his towel, and headed to the sauna. "Now, maybe it was just me, but you seemed to take a little longer then usual, Dick," joked Tim, who had just wrapped up with the sparring dummy. Dick only snorted. The rookie had a mouth that was way too big to smart aleck at him. "Probably just old age starting to creep in," Dick replied, sarcastically. He motioned towards the sauna, and Tim accepted the invitation.

Tim Drake had only taken up his former mantle two years ago, but Bruce, Barb, and especially Dick had been adamant towards putting him through his paces. To his credit, he was plenty book-smart, and his intuition could often compensate for any inexperience on his part. As they settled into the room, Tim looked at his upperclassman with a smirk. "So, another girl you just met, and you're already dating." Dick groaned. One of these days, he and Barb were going to have to thoroughly define the parameters of "need-to-know" basis. "It wasn't anything like that," he resignedly explained. "Oh, don't worry, I understand completely," said Tim. Nightwing eyed the rookie suspiciously.

Leaning back, Tim smugly leered at the senior partner. "She wants your hot acrobat body." Dick growled at the rookie. "I told the both of you, I'm stopping it before it starts." Tim shrugged. "Yeah, that's how it always works, you heartbreaker." Dick closed his eyes in frustration. Fine, his love life was…kind of a legendary mess. He had a habit of being able to strike up a relationship at a moments notice, and for a while, everything would go great. Then, eventually, things would suddenly, and inevitably, hit rock bottom. Barb and Tim both had a lewd theory about when that particular circumstance occurred. It had garnered him the behind-the-back nickname "One-Night Stand-Wing"

"Can we please end the conversation now," Nightwing begged. Tim held up his hands in a conciliatory manner. "All right then, so tell me about our soon to be expected guests," he asked. Dick, relieved that the subject matter was changing, looked at his replacement. "According to Barb, they both booked passage on an unregistered freighter out of the UK. Last she had heard, the freighter was engaged by a Kaznian strike force, and according to Royal Naval reports, the ship sank after an extended bombardment by attack helicopters." Tim whistled. "Man, the Kaznians must have really wanted those two dead. Let me guess, no bodies confirmed?" Dick smiled slightly. "You've really been spending a lot of time with the old man. He's starting to rub off on you. Yeah, so I'm still preparing to brace for the worst. You want to help, you're more then welcome," he offered, mostly out of politeness.

"Nah, I'm busy enough helping Bruce with the Arkham City case. He's managed to trace back the mastermind to a former Asylum doctor named Hugo Strange (Yes, I'm dead serious), and we're trying to dig into any background we can get our hands on. Oh, and we're also helping your new girlfriend dismantle the Joker's gang." His smile died a bit with another glare from Dick. "Of course, "Bruce Wayne" also had to do his part, and offered to help the GCPD as well, didn't he? Mostly by giving our most valuable weapon a new home. In my old room, as it were," said Dick, accusingly. Tim shrugged, "It was Alfred's idea. Something about it having the least escape potential. He's a pretty charming guy. You want to say hi?" Nightwing stood up. "Busy, but if my room is occupied for the time being, I guess I'll have to stay over at Barb's place for the time being." Tim winced, "Oh, and you thought I gave you grief over this morning." "No kidding. When Barb's pissed, she can turn passive-aggressiveness into an artform," Dick joked. The junior vigilantes shared a laugh as they finished up the sauna.

**At a dock just outside of Hub City**

The old man was known throughout the criminal underworld as the Booking Agent, or as Joker preferred to call him, Cookie the Bookie. He hated that name. For that matter, he hated his job, his co-workers, his clientele, and especially his current boss. With most of the Jokers' gang incarcerated or in hiding, he was tempted to just make a run for it. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that nobody, in his considerable memory, had survived for more then a month after walking out on the Joker. Until that man was dead and buried, he was going to keep doing exactly what he was told. Even if that meant selling out the only other member of the gang he learned to stand.

There was a knock on the office, and Moe poked his head in to let him know the "contractors" finally arrived for the evening. Cookie nodded, than gathered all the material together for the briefing. Soon walked in two men who looked like they crawled out of one of his Crane-induced nightmares. The first one was a slight, skinny man wearing a brown duster with several bandoliers of knives criss-crossing over and under the coat. In addition to that, he also wore cowboy boots with spurs and two bandanas, a grey one on his head and a yellow one around his mouth. He recognized them as the colors of the Hasaraguan flag, and gathered that this one must be Brutale.

The other one looked like a traditional mercenary. Tactical vest, army boots, wool-knit cap. In fact, the most standout feature about this guy, apart from his above-average size, was the stump where his left arm should be. According to the rumors, the man had a run in with the legendary mercenary Deathstroke, and if that was the case, the fact that he was still alive spoke volumes about his skill. This had to be the one known as "KGBeast."

The bookie pounded the files together on the desk. "Gentlemen, it's an honor to meet the two of you personally. I'll keep this brief. My "employer" is offering the two of you two million dollars for the elimination of a few priority targets." Brutale pulled out a bowie knife and started inspecting the edge. "Got it, string up the mayor, skin the police commissioner, decapitate a journalist, whatever, I get the drill." The bookie pushed his glasses. "Um, I'm actually talking about these two specific targets." He reached into the file, pulling out two pictures. One was a mug shot of a scared man; the other was a smiling graduation picture of a young woman.

"The Joker is paying you five hundred thousand dollars per each target you eliminate, and will double your total when you take care of both of them. The boss doesn't care how or if you decide to divvy up the grand total, all he wants is the two of them dealt with. Either keep them from talking, or kill both of them, doesn't matter to the boss." Brutale picked up the picture of the woman and began inspecting it intently. KGBeast figured he might as well ask for him. "This "Silva" man is the one leaking information, correct? Wouldn't it be more prudent to just eliminate Silva?" The bookie shrugged. "I only get the orders I'm relayed. The Joker made it clear that he wants both of them dead before the city has a chance to testify against him. He probably wants the girl dead as an example to the city," the nebbish offered.

"Fine by me," Brutale commented, off-handedly. He had missed Kaznia more then his "partner" did. Largely because he was given free reign to do whatever he wanted wherever he was stationed. South Kaznia was a free-for-all; those tough enough not to die made the law. Someone who annoyed him, he was free to dispose. Something he wanted, like some artwork, or a car, or a house, or a pretty girl, he was free to take. That was how things used to work in Hasaragua, and he refused to live any other way. "If you don't feel comfortable going after a civvie, Knyazev, I'll be more then happy to do the dirty work," Barrera offered, his shit-eating grin evident through the cloth. KGBeast snarled. He cared nothing for the girl, but leaving her in the care of this perverted degenerate offended his already somewhat malleable sensibilities.

The bookie meekly interrupted the hostility. "As I'm sure both you gentlemen are aware, the presence of Batman and his fellow "heroes" tends to make moving around the city problematic. In addition, the Tyger mercenaries are also establishing a working attendance within the city, I would suggest remaining here until an opportune moment to strike surfa-AAAGH!" he screamed as a knife embedded itself into his shoulder. Brutale leaped onto the man's desk, staring him dead in the eye. "YOU-DO-NOT-TELL-ME-WHAT-TO-DO!" he screeched. KGBeast grabbed the torturer by the shoulder, shoving him off the desk. Brutale leaped back to his feet, staring daggers into Anatoli's glare. "Don't make me regret leaving you on the boat when I had the chance," the Russian snarled. Brutale just sniffed, and then broke off, storming out of the office. Anatoli looked over to the man clutching his shoulder, gave him some gauze from his vest pouch, and shrugged apologetically. "I'll try to keep the durak in line, but no promises," and with that, the Russian followed his compatriot outside.

**Hey guys, I finally got a review, courtesy of ersay123. Get this, he/she/? asked for the dividers that separated the different P.O.V. sections in between chapters to make it easier to read, and I listened! I never would have known it was an issue if he/she/? didn't tell me! And I swear I didn't bite his/her/? head off or anything, so I have no idea why the rest of you are too terrified to say anything. :-/**


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